


The Game

by FrivolousSuits



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Loyalty, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits
Summary: Harvey Specter and Donna Paulsen are efficient and elegant killers. They have trained since childhood, mentored personally by Jessica Pearson and marked for years as District 1's Tributes for the Hunger Games.Mike Ross is an orphan from District 12, a drug dealer, and an underage gambler. After years of scrutinizing the Hunger Games on TV to make savvy bets, he finds himself on the wrong side of the camera, now playing the odds just to survive.Harvey and Mike cannot, should not trust each other. Still, they strike a backroom deal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Includes dark themes typical of Hunger Games canon, including drug use, violence and dubcon prostitution. Your faves may die horribly.
> 
> In this AU, it's a long-established rule that two Victors will come home if they're from the same district. In other words Harvey and Donna (should) have no need to kill each other or even contemplate it; there's strong trust within each District's team.

For all their mutts and modifications, the Capitol’s experiments never produce something to compete with Mike Ross’ brain. At three years old, he’s more literate than many of the adults around him, and he spends his days reading aloud from a dictionary, his family’s longest book, to his baby sister Jenny. His eyes, skimming over the text at stunning speed, shimmer blue like the sea. They're nothing like the coal and fire around him in District 12.

In District 1 Lily Specter dresses her four-year-old son Harvey in his finest clothes and takes him to their city’s central park soon after winter ends. Surrounded by a horde of other children, he plays games, solving puzzles, punching targets as hard as he can, flitting through an obstacle course with all the easy grace of a spring breeze. He throws himself into the challenges with childish enthusiasm, turning downright giddy as he outstrips one opponent after another. Young as he is, he doesn’t realize these are the entrance tests for Pearson Academy, Panem’s premier training school for the Hunger Games. He doesn’t notice Jessica Pearson herself observing him from a distance.

* * *

When school starts, Mike skips the boring classes and instead loiters around the Hob, 12′s black market. Even though he’s too young to buy or sell anything himself, assorted shopkeepers take a liking to him, and some use him as a human calculator to tally up prices. When he’s not needed he tucks himself into odd corners, soaking up old stories and the old records that Sae plays sometimes, all crackling horns and syncopated rhythm. One day he’s joined under a table by a fellow truant named Trevor, the same age as him with a dangerous spark in his dark brown eyes.

Seven-year-old Harvey– or “Specter,” as everyone calls him nowadays– lounges in his Academy quarters, blasting jazzy music out of brand-new speakers and singing along. When other kids bang on the door and shout for him to quiet down, he simply smirks and turns the volume dial higher, because he’s added bars and bolts to his door and built a barricade from furniture to keep intruders out of his room, and nobody can stop him from doing what he likes in here.

That is, until a little redheaded girl breaks through all his barriers, circumvents all his defenses, sneaks up on him as he leans back in his chair with three of its legs off the ground, and moves as if to tip him over– only to reach across him and click the speaker’s off button instead.

As he gawps, she just raises an eyebrow and says, “Hi, I’m Donna. I just moved in next door. Shut up, please, or I won’t be so nice next time.”

* * *

Deep in a mountain, one spark catches on cold dust. One instant orphans both Trevor and Mike.

* * *

Harvey ignores the baseball bat at the back of his closet and instead brings out a dark suit. Today is the first time he’s ever been permitted to leave the Academy during school. The occasion meriting such special allowances is his father’s funeral.

When his mother shows up at the wake with another man on her arm, Harvey straightens up and tells her to go to hell. “You made a fool of Dad,” he says. “You exploited him and his legal problems this whole time, and all he ever did wrong was love you. Is it so damn impossible for you to at least pretend to be faithful?”

Lily just shakes her head, torn between exasperation and pity. “When will you learn how the world works, Harvey?”

* * *

In the aftermath, Mike and Jenny move in with their grandmother Edith. There’s a roof over their heads but never enough food on their plates, and the wind cuts right through the walls and their threadbare blankets to chill them to the bone. During a particularly harsh winter, Jenny takes ill, and Trevor starts showing up at their door with extra supplies of meat and other food that he can’t possibly afford.

At the Academy, Harvey beats back his grief by hurling himself into the nonstop competition, battling all the other students who want 1’s Tribute spots. He regularly faces off with Scottie, a girl with flashing dark eyes and a brazen wit, and every time she forces him to the ground. When he at last wins a match, he expects her to sulk or play it off as a fluke, but instead she beams proudly at him.

Then there’s Donna, who proves a damn near equal match for him. Each wins just as often as the other, and the hope of pulling ahead sharpens both of their resolves. They pummel each other with mock weapons, study for months to beat each other’s scores on Games knowledge tests, and spend every school day taunting each other.

With time, the taunting softens to playful teasing, and they gradually turn inseparable. In their rare hours of free time, they break out of the Academy and roam around the nearby city. Harvey rather suspects Jessica is aware of every time they stray outside– she seems to have a knowing glint in her eye each morning afterwards, but perhaps he’s just imagining it.

* * *

Mike starts going out to the woods with Trevor, breaking a wide array of laws simply by crossing a chink in 12’s fence. They compound the crime by poaching, hunting down animals to eat and selling whatever meat they have to spare. After some exploring, they discover a swath of wild Eufrosyne trees, and they start harvesting the leaves to sell as well. They find plenty of buyers– people seem grateful for drugs around here.

One night, they find that the fence is electrified when they try to go home, and so they are temporarily barred from 12. Trevor starts to panic, but Mike starts to plan, recalling hundreds of tricks for surviving in the wilderness that he’s learned off the Hunger Games. They end up adapting a shelter that the girl from 3 made last year and weathering the night. When the fence powers off the next morning and they return home, they find Edith and Jenny both frightened senseless.

“We’re perfectly intact,” Mike reassures them. “Nobody died!”

Trevor gives an easy smile and plants a kiss on Jenny’s lips. “Yeah, you know you can’t rid of me that easily.”

* * *

Harvey’s closet fills with suits, for interviews and dinners and boxing tournaments and Mock Trials. Yet his dress is considerably plainer, just black slacks and a white T-shirt, on the day when he kills for the first time.

His victim is a patient suffering from a painful terminal illness who consented to being killed by an Academy student in exchange for money for her relatives. He knows taking her life ought to affect him– it’s an explicit opportunity to work through some of the self-loathing and moral quandaries that accompany killing ahead of the Games– yet he tries to pretend he doesn’t care. He thinks he’s doing a good job of it, until Jessica calls him to her office for a cup of tea and he winds up breaking down as he drinks it, just as she predicted.

Days later, he’s dropped off in the wilderness with Donna for an Academy survival practical. As they huddle around their fire, in the shadow of a shelter they constructed together, she nudges him with her elbow. “I got us a present.”

“Oh?”

She pulls an old rubbing alcohol bottle out of her pack, unscrews the top, and hands it over to him. He takes a quick sniff and immediately starts chuckling. “Not quite the same alcohol it says on the label, huh?”

“Scotch, straight from Cameron Dennis’ surprisingly well-stocked cabinet.”

He grins and takes a swig. They while away the afternoon, passing the bottle back and forth and sharing increasingly ridiculous ideas for knocking off opponents in the Games, until Donna puts forth a plan with a can opener that Harvey can’t even try to top.

* * *

One bright spring morning, Edith passes. Leaving Jenny with Trevor, Mike flees to the woods for the night, closing his fingers around the mockingjay pin she left him.

* * *

It’s impossible to ignore the Cameron Dennis problem anymore.

Harvey and Donna drag Jessica down to his office one night when he’s out of his head with some ugly mix of alcohol and morphling, and the teacher they’ve studied under for years turns on them, slurring that Jessica ought to expel the two of them for their insubordination. He lunges at Harvey, who easily sidesteps. Jessica fires Cameron on the spot with a melancholy sigh.

* * *

A few years down the road, Mike watches Dana Scott of District 1, a girl with murderous eyes and brazen confidence with all manner of deadly weapons, play in the 73rd Hunger Games. He’s fascinated in a sick sort of way, and he supposes he should root for her, if only because he’s put quite a bit of money down on her. She’s a relatively safe bet– Pearson Academy’s Tributes always start with the odds in their favor, thanks to their training and their willingness to do whatever it takes to win– and he grows more certain of her chances as the Games unfold, as images of Dana stabbing, garroting, and poisoning burn themselves into his brain. She pushes through the arena alongside her partner Vanessa, a young woman who matches her guile and skill in battle when necessary but shows a sort of vulnerability about her that rarely surfaces in Pearson students.

In between the deaths and fighting, the cameras show the coaches and sponsors and Gamemakers all mingling. Mike sees Jessica Pearson herself schmoozing with Caesar Flickerman, both wearing smiles that could kill. In the background, he identifies Tom Keller, the Capitol citizen in charge of most of the Games’ main gambling systems. The camera starts to pan away as Tom throws an arm around an up-and-coming Pearson Academy student, a young man strutting around with slicked hair and a suit that cost more than Mike’s house.

Mike rolls his eyes and tells Jenny, “If I ever try to look like that, feel free to smack me.”

“Will do,” she giggles, “after I figure out how you managed to afford anything remotely like that and steal your money for myself.”

Mike gives her a thumbs-up.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” he says a few minutes later, rising from his seat with a yawn. “Wake me when the Gamemakers start firebombing the kids from 5.”

“How do you know they will?” Jenny frowns.

“They will.”

And they do.

* * *

Dana and Vanessa win, and they visit 12 and all the other districts on their Victory Tour. Yet the Gamemakers and Academies and gamblers have already turned their attention forwards, to the 74th Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2

Mike and Trevor linger in the woods, ensconced in a tree with their legs dangling far off the ground. They’re high in more ways than one. The spark in Trevor’s eye has mellowed out, and he throws Mike a lazy smile. 

Mike returns it before saying, “Give me another one.”

“Uh . . .” Trevor screws up his forehead and tries to remember English. “Section 547.”

Mike screws up his forehead, though not because of any memory lapse. “If the final two survivors of any given Games are from the same district, they shall both be crowned as Victors. Otherwise, the Games shall continue until only one Victor remains . . .”

Trevor flaps a hand at him. “Ugh, stop, too on the nose. How about . . . how about section 2345?”

“Ah, District 4’s endangered species fishing regulations, a fascinating topic. The Secretary, by regulation promulgated in accordance with subsection (b) and to the maximum extent prudent and determinable— (i) shall, concurrently with making a determination under paragraph (1) that a species is an endangered species or a threatened species, designate any habitat of such species which is then considered to be critical habitat . . .”

“And that,” he says, wagging a finger vaguely and taking another puff of Eufrosyne, “is too boring. Let’s do Section 4 . . . 4 . . . 4 . . . 4.” Trevor grins, pleased with his cleverness.

“A person who is a citizen of a District whether by birth or naturalization and is a child of a parent of another District of a higher number, for which purpose the Capitol shall be treated as “District 0,” shall by voluntarily signing an affirmation or other formal declaration of ren . . .”

“Mikey. I’m going to fall asleep and fall out and snap my neck.”

“Still sounds better than the Reaping.”

Once they finish their Eufrosyne, they go home and clean up, which in Mike’s case means putting on his one collared shirt. He doesn’t have a tie.

* * *

Harvey chose his suit years ago. Cool. Blue. Terrifying. A silk tie rippling like water over his fingers. A vest that would buy meals in an outer district for a year. Cufflinks that are a gift from a client who will soon become his sponsor. He still hasn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that he has clients, even before becoming a Victor. He and Scottie could have ended up in quite the catfight over Debeque, had they not realized they could just share.

Donna has no clients– she’s only seventeen, and Jessica does prefer to dance on the right side of the law. But Donna’s so good at twisting hearts that they’ll sponsor her for nothing more than an airblown kiss.

Jessica knocks on his door. He doesn’t need to invite her in. She opens the door and walks right up behind him, her reflection even taller than his in the mirror, and she lightly quizzes him on all the ways to challenge any idiots who also dare volunteer. But that’s not her real game.

Before she leaves, she leans in close. “Remember, if you come back–”

“The Academy’ll be Pearson-Specter, just a few years down the line,” he says, watching his grin turn predatory in the glass.

Why? Because he’s an orphan in practice if not in fact, with nobody outside the school to care for. Because he’s the closest she’s got to uncompromised. Because he’s clever and quick-thinking and he’s learned her main lesson well– don’t love anyone you wouldn’t be willing to see dead. 

Ideally, don’t love anyone at all.

“To be clear–” he turns to face her– “does the offer stand only if Donna and I both come back?”

“No, it stands even if it’s only you who returns . . .”

She leaves him. They don't need to say that they can’t let that happen.

* * *

“You’re young, you’ve only got one ticket,” Mike tells Jenny as he ties the bow at the back of her one nice dress. “And given how many people take tesserae in District 12, you’ve got some of the best odds of not being picked of any kid in the country.”

The sash cinches her growing frame too tightly. She tugs at it. “Still worse than the Capitol children.”

“True,” Mike says, forcing chipperness. “But low regardless.”

In fact, he doesn’t have all that high of a chance himself. The odds say he’ll be fine, he’ll make it through yet another Reaping unscathed, untouched–

“Trevor Evans.”

Mike’s eyes snap up to the stage, where Effie Trinket has unfolded that cursed bit of white paper. And on the one hand he can’t believe it, but then the mathematical part of his brain kicks in and reminds him that Trevor’s been donating too much of his own food to Mike and Jenny and Granny for years, that he’s taken near the max amount of tesserae, no matter how many times he tries to deny it. Trevor likely had one of the highest chances of being picked of anyone in the District. It was certainly more probable than–

“Jennifer Ross.”

More probable than that. But the odds of this outcome don’t matter, because this is now 100% certain fact, and Mike wrenches his brain down a new path of calculations, testing the possibility of going in her place. 43 out of 73 Games so far have had two winners, so if he tries the naive calculus he’s got a roughly 6% chance of winning. Now adjust for the fact that he’s not bad at running and he’s a damn good shot– maybe 11%. Now take into account he’s coping with years of undernourishment– 8%. Throw in the fact that he’s a genius and he’s going in with Trevor, who’s fairly strong and stable and knows how to watch his back– 12%. Now fold in the fact that he already knows far too much about the Games, and will know even more by the time they start– 15%. Now account for the presence of actual Careers, children explicitly trained from birth for no purpose but winning the Games– 4%. Take into account the fact that 12 has never before won . . .

Jenny sobs as she stumbles towards the stage.

“I, Michael James Ross, volunteer in place of Jennifer Ross as a tribute of District 12.”

The official formula rolls off his tongue easily, because he’s memorized it along with all the laws governing the selection of Games Tributes. Along with every other law governing the Games. Along with every other law Panem claims to follow. He went to the Town Hall and read the complete unabridged  _ Laws of Panem _ last week, in place of school. Scraps of random regulations surface in his mind as he walks forward, doing his best to keep calm, to keep his chin up and eyes dry.

Jenny screams.


	3. Chapter 3

Donna and Harvey win their places exactly according to plan. They volunteer without hesitation and stride up onto the stage, targeting the audience with their death glare to dissuade any upstarts who might dare challenge them. After a routine, well-rehearsed good-bye with assorted friends from the Academy and Donna’s parents, they’re bundled onto the train, just as they’ve expected for years.

* * *

“You two are the favorites,” Jessica tells them, placing her teacup in its saucer with a soft clink, “as the gamblers have already agreed.”

“You going to bet?” Harvey smirks. “I could make you a fortune.”

“They think  I ’m a safer bet.” Donna tosses her head. 

Harvey’s jaw drops in mock alarm. “First of all, I’m offended. Second of all, because there’s a 100% chance we’re both coming back together, you should put all your money on me for a bigger payout.”

Jessica serves him with a look, warning them both to get serious.

Donna straightens up. “We have the feeds from the other Reapings?”

“We do indeed.” Vanessa sweeps in with a screen, swiveling it for them all to see. District 2 suffered quite the scuffle– another boy had challenged Kyle for his position. Samantha swiftly lawyered her way in through the bylaws, and Kyle successfully volunteered for the female tribute’s place.

Jessica speaks first. "Interesting, but that still means Rand Kaldor Academy got their pair in place. Any real shake-ups?”

Vanessa nods. “There was an unexpected volunteer.”

“Did 3 get an academy together?” Donna frowns. “I know they’ve been talking about it for ages, but . . .”

Inhaling cautiously, Vanessa pulls up a new clip of 12’s Reaping. It was staged as always in front of that old excuse for a courthouse. Together they watch the scene unfold.

Donna narrows her eyes, stare boring through the screen. “That’s his younger sister he’s volunteering for. Given how calm he’s acting, I’d bet they’d planned it ahead of time.”

“Mm.” Harvey purses his lips when said sister starts screaming. “She doesn’t seem to be in on the plan. And look, the boy’s jumping out of his skin.”

“Really? That looks more like silent planning to me.”

Harvey scrutinizes Mike more carefully and finds– unsurprisingly– that Donna’s right. Yes, now he starts to see the hidden genius, gears turning behind those innocent eyes.

“Scottie,” Jessica interrupts, “what’s your research so far?”

“No new information on Kyle and Samantha since their last report. I’ve prioritized the 12s–” she lays their files on the table– “and we’re pursuing threads on all the other districts.”

Harvey snaps up Mike’s file.  _ Volunteer _ , the heading reads. Somebody actually  _ volunteered _ , and not because they’re from an academy with years of training. He starts reviewing the rest of the file, waiting for this new foe to make sense, but he can’t nail him down. Mike’s grades are high, yet his school attendance record is abysmal and he’s been written up for drug use. Maybe he’s sacrificing himself now for his more productive sister, the only hope for their family. Yet that doesn’t make complete sense, not with the intelligence simmering in those blue eyes. Volunteering isn’t just surrender and self-sacrifice. There’s a deeper scheme at play.

There’s a record of a disturbance at a local gambling establishment; officially, Mike got kicked out for being too young. But he specifically got banned while betting on the Hunger Games, which nobody ever wins money on, and Harvey can’t imagine why a bookie in District 12 would turn down easy money that way. Even in the other districts, no one enforces the underage betting rule. 

That invites the second question– why the hell would a broke kid put down money on the Games, where he’d be sure to lose it? He’d have to be monumentally stupid–

Or brilliant.

Perhaps he wins those bets.

Perhaps he does whatever it takes to win.

“The Capitol wants your registration papers,” Vanessa interrupts Harvey’s spiraling thoughts. “You want them to refer to you as–”

“Specter and Donna,” Harvey answers without looking up.

“Just confirming.”

* * *

Before Mike and Trevor leave Jenny takes off her grandmother’s old mockingjay pin, only slightly tarnished, and spears it on Mike’s shirt with trembling fingers. Then she slips off Granny’s wedding ring from the band where she wore it as a necklace and gives it to Trevor. “You’re going to bring this back, do you hear me? I’m going to wear this for you one day.”

“We’re coming back. You can’t get rid of us that easily,” he says, his smirk unfaltering.

Mike slips away to one of Mayor Zane’s assistants, an official who’s been waiting just outside the room. “Could you sign both of us up for the max amount of tesserae? Give all the stuff to Jenny, and she’ll sell the leftovers in case we don’t . . . in case we don’t come back.”

It’s solid strategy– he’s not sure why more Tributes don’t sign up for tesserae before they go. It’s free food for their families, and it’s not like having more tickets in next year’s Reaping will affect them. Either they’ll be Victors, out of the Reaping forever, or they’ll be dead.

Mike can think of nothing but strategy, even when he encounters the spread of rich pastries and meats laid out for them on the train. He elbows Trevor before he can claim an entire bowl of mousse as his own. “Stick to the healthy stuff.”

He remembers the kid from 11, five years back, who made herself sick on parfaits and ended up in the hospital even before the Games.

Their Capitol escort– an Effie Trinket with sculpted purple curls and matching rouge– teeters in on her heels a few moments later, her smile so stiff Mike wonders if it’s been surgically sewn that way. 

“What names should we use to address you?” she asks.

“Your Majesty, for me,” Trevor replies, lightning-fast.

Mike rolls his eyes. “We’re Trevor and Mike.”

She lifts an eyebrow, revealing caked lines in her face powder. “Not Michael?”

“No, Mike’s fine,” he says with a shake of the head and the disarming smile that always got extra soup out of Sae. “Say, Effie, there’s something I was wondering if we could have?”

“Anything,” she chirps. “You can have anything at all!”

Mike takes a moment to organize a list of a hundred things he can’t have, starting with personal autonomy and a guarantee he’ll survive the next month. 

“I need all the information available on the other Tributes. Feeds of the Reapings, all previous videos of the Careers, level-0 background checks, the dossiers that the Capitol Presidential Casino’s compiling, resumes of the Gamemakers–”

She tilts her head, eyes vacant. “But wouldn’t you rather relax and enjoy yourself for a day at least? To calm your nerves?”

“No, I’d rather live,” he says, forcibly keeping the sweetness in his own tone. “It’s just that without a mentor, I feel I need to try any avenue I have, and I don’t know much.”

A look of pity crosses her face, and she grants him a jittery nod and goes to start compiling.

He sees Trevor about to joke about him “not knowing much”: “Don’t.”

Trevor swallows the joke right down.

* * *

“Shocker,” Trevor mutters, slapping a file back on the table. “The jerks who’ve trained forever for the Hunger Games have the best shot at winning the Hunger Games. Seriously, where do they get these names?”

“I know, right? ‘Specter.’ It’s better than ‘Glimmer and Gloss,’ but not by much.”

“District 1 names, I swear,” Trevor snorts, grabbing the folder labeled with Specter’s name. He skims the first few lines and leans back with an odd “huh.” 

“What?” 

“His actual name’s Harvey,” Trevor says, raising his eyebrows. “I see why he’d go for ‘Specter’ instead, flash and all that, but I feel like he should have just stuck with the normal-sounding . . .”

Mike’s eyes are fixed on the write-up on Specter’s partner, Donna. There’s an interview with her parents after their good-bye. They give canned, cheerful answers, but Mike can imagine the tears glistening right below the surface.

“Hey, Mike? Mike?”

“We have to keep reading.”

* * *

As their trains roll into the Capitol’s stations, Tributes slowly filter into the Tribute Center. It’s a silver building with an angled top, carving a sharp shape into the rest of the city’s skyline. The first residential floor belongs to District 1, and Harvey and Donna swagger in easily, hardly impressed by the furnishings. He gripes that District 12 gets the penthouse even while his view is obstructed by other, uglier buildings. Donna rolls her eyes at him, but she joins him on their balcony to wave winningly at the press below.

They’re the first Tributes in the Capitol. Out of concerns for “fairness,” they’re not allowed into the training gyms yet, not that it makes a difference when Jessica’s shipped in half the Academy and set it up in their dining room. Harvey and Donna don their virtual reality gear, mount a complex, circular treadmill that lets them move forever in any direction they choose, and start running through simulations. Unsurprisingly, Jessica hits them with a sim of a Cornucopia battle– the first fight of every Games, all twenty-four tributes scrambling to control the main stash of food and weapons. Specter and Donna have run through this sim a hundred times before, but now the generic twenty-two enemies have been fitted with new skins. The skins and faces of the 24 real Tributes. 

Harvey stabs largely indiscriminately, though he attempts to match faces to names as he lays their owners low. Mike Ross nearly escapes his clutches, but Harvey grabs a bow and shoots him just as he escapes into the line of trees around the clearing. A strange stab of  _ wrongness _ hits Harvey, because someone with enough spirit to volunteer wouldn’t go down so easily, but he pushes past it and keeps slaughtering his other CGI opponents.

He’s averaging 10 kills in as many minutes, but a knock at the door breaks into his streak. Harvey takes off his headset and opens the door to reveal a maid, holding out an envelope. She hands it over to Harvey without a word and then scurries away. She’s likely an Avox.

A chill runs over his skin even before he opens the letter and finds it’s from Tom Keller, who requests the pleasure of his company.

“I think he’ll find it  _ very _ pleasurable,” Donna says, reading over his shoulder.

“I know he will,” he replies, his grin unabashedly lecherous.

He heads back to his room and lays out a suit– the best that District 1, the district of luxury, has to offer. He prepares for his client meeting.

* * *

Mike and Trevor drop their jaws when they enter the penthouse marked for District 12. A chandelier gleams above them, made of silver strands woven like thread, and their feet sink into plush, richly-dyed carpets. They have no balcony, but a spiraling staircase leads from their quarters to a glorious rooftop garden. The window alone steals Mike’s breath away, stretching from the floor to the ceiling and offering up a city that glimmers far as he can see.

He tears himself away and returns to his reading. He even brings his files to dinner, summarizing key points for Trevor as he goes along. Out loud he makes his predictions about the Games’ environment. In his mind he revises his opinions of the other tributes, speculating that no other alliances will be worth their time at the start of the Games. There are no stand-out pairs just yet minus the Careers, who are never going to let them in.

Though he already knows more about the Careers than he ever before wanted, Mike keeps looping back to Specter. In his interviews, he doesn’t seem quite as entitled, as hung-up on the prestige of being a Career as Kyle from 2. Specter seems more willing to take high risks for high rewards, even if he’d prefer a guaranteed win.

Plus the gamblers say he’s got more sponsors lined up than anyone in history. Mike can’t imagine how he pulled that one off, or perhaps he doesn’t want to.

* * *

Tom Keller makes good on his promise– two weeks of generous support in the _Games_ in exchange for one night’s service. The night goes smoothly, entirely according to plan.

Still, Harvey wanders past his bedroom when he returns, instead taking the elevator up to the rooftop garden. He breathes deep, entirely too calmed by the loud, chill wind whipping his face. Standing there alone, he looks out on the sparkling Capitol skyline and dreams idly of ruling it all someday.


	4. Chapter 4

Tonight comes the opening ceremony. 

Mike and Trevor cling to the breakfast table long as they can, still poring over their opposition research, but the beauticians eventually drag them away. They are remade: scrubbed, waxed, plucked, polished, their faces treated with a stinging chemical to keep beards from growing in during the Games. At last they are escorted into a private, mirrored room to meet with their stylist.

“What are the chances we’ll be in the same coal miner suit from the last three years?” Trevor mutters.

“Too high for my liking.”

A well-coiffed man sweeps in, introducing himself only as “Rene.” Mike recognizes him on sight. “Aren’t you District 1’s stylist?”   
“There’s no challenge there,” he tuts, “not when I finished dressing Donna and Specter a year ago. No, I’ve snapped up another district to keep myself occupied, and alas, only 12 was available.”

Trevor rolls his eyes.

Rene glares back. “Not to worry,” he says with a wave of his hands. “I’ll do what nobody’s done before. I’ll make you stand out. Have you any initial preferences I should take into account?”

“I, um. There’s a newly registered fabric dye coming out of 8,” Mike says, aiming to sound uncertain. “I saw it on TV. Number 5523? Or maybe 5532?”

“And what do you suggest I use it for?” A glint grows in his eyes.

“The specifics are up to you.” Mike shrugs. “Just make us the most fascinating pair out there.”

Rene stares at him, surely running through a hundred designs on the spot. Then . . .

“Oh, I could never do that,” he scoffs. “But I can make it a tie.”

* * *

“What’s he got those District 1 kids in, do you think?” Trevor mutters under his breath, head bowed down amidst the pre-ceremony chaos.

“They’re probably very nearly naked,” Mike murmurs back. “Statistical observation– it attracts sponsors.”

A second later, Kyle and Samantha of District 2 parade into the stable in frame-hugging, nearly transparent fabric, sneering at their competitors. Trevor shoots back a dirty look. Mike keeps his own head down, just petting the mare set to draw District 12’s chariot in the ceremony.

Trevor elbows him. “There’s Specter.”

Mike’s head snaps up. He sees Specter in an instant, easily picking him out of the crowd. He’s entirely clothed in a glossy deep blue suit, powerful simply because it’s so understated. Mike sweeps his eyes over him once and memorizes him– the sparkling cufflinks, the power knot, the shimmering pocket square, the thick tie, the hair smooth and darkened to a light brown by gel. 

By itself his suit shouldn’t work, not for an event as grand as this, even with Donna matching him with a resplendent floor-length blue dress and her flame-red hair streaming down. 

It wouldn’t work if not for Harvey’s smile. 

That smile projects charisma for the masses. It crinkles on the side. Harvey keeps his chin high, just barely bordering on smug, and Mike’s breath catches as his brain brands that smile indelibly in his memory.

Mike starts, realizing that Donna’s been watching him stare at Harvey’s mouth. She just raises a carefully penciled eyebrow before turning and taking Harvey’s arm and mounting their chariot.

Together, they are glorious. The crowd roars when District 1’s pair emerges from the stable and into the Circus. How could they not, when Harvey’s seducing them with his personal brand of confidence and cockiness, honed carefully over a decade of training for this exact moment?

But the crowd roars just as loudly when Mike and Trevor come out, their 5532-drenched black suits seemingly on fire. And when Mike re-watches the coverage, he sees Harvey watching him as well.

A tie it is.

* * *

The next day, training begins.

“Practice skills that’ll make you look like a threat,” Mike tells Trevor at breakfast, “because otherwise we’ll just be asking for trouble. You know what I’ll be doing.”

Trevor nods, knowing better than to question him in this arena.

And so they split as soon as they enter the Center, and Mike starts cramming. He visits the edible plants station. The knots station. The climbing station. The medicine station. The ropes course. The edible insects station, though he hopes that won’t be necessary. Fire-starting. Camouflage. Shelter-building. He makes sure to skim the overstuffed informatory signs at every station. He makes sure to let his eyes glaze over, like he’s not absorbing a single thing. He asks silly questions and complains about forgetting details.

The lie grows intoxicating.

The whole time he’s analyzing the availability of stations and information and making deductions– he expects a mountain Games, with edible plants and animals mixed in with poisonous ones. A chilly environment, but not one that should kill. For a second he mourns for all the money he would’ve made betting this time around.

A second later, he factors in the possibility that the Gamemakers have planted false information to mislead the Careers. He increases the probability of the second most likely option– a forest environment.

Meanwhile, Harvey holds the record time at the Gauntlet, a massive obstacle course that would break Mike’s neck three times over, and he’s knocked out one of the trainers in the boxing ring. Next time Mike looks, he’s wielding a trident as if he was born and bred in District 4. 

Donna could likely match him in every respect, but instead she flits around making friends. Where Harvey’s now turned to stone, she radiates friendliness, though how any Career can come off as friendly before the Games is beyond Mike. The younger children gravitate towards her, trailing her around the Training Center.

Trevor holds his tongue they’re safely back on their residential floor. Then he explodes: “I feel like we’re frauds, next to the Careers.”

“We  _ are _ frauds,” Mike replies. “Specter and Donna, they’re hand-picked and trained by Jessica Pearson. We learned most of our information from betting on prior Games.”

“So there’s no competition.”

“I didn’t say that.” Mike keeps his voice steady, batting away creeping panic.

* * *

On Day 2, Donna dismisses the children trotting after her and instead circles Trevor. She watches him lift weights as heavy as her. She doesn’t say a word.

The next time she shifts her focus, Mike’s her target. Without warning she appears at the fishing station, plopping down on the seat next to him. Harvey’s one station over, battering metal targets past the point of recognizability with a club, causing a ruckus apparently for the fun of it. Donna lifts a piece of bone and a jagged rock from the fishing stall’s table and lowers her voice. “So, in the Trials, do you want a 2 for your score?”

Mike freezes. “Excuse me?”

“Or are you going straight for a 1?”

He musters up his most furious scowl. “Look, I know I’m not as experienced as some people, I didn’t have the privilege of growing up a Career, but you really do not have to rub it in my face–” He steals a look at her face and instantly gives up. “I was thinking of a 3.”

She smirks.

“How did you know what I was planning?” he says under his breath, restraining a sigh.

“I didn’t until you told me,” she replies with a smug little shrug. “But I did suspect.”

Now he stops his work and really looks at her. In the few seconds they’ve spoken she’s sharpened her fish bone into a deadly dagger. She inspects it carefully, pointing the point at him.

“Hm,” she murmurs. “I’d tell you that you’re using the wrong type of stone to whittle your hook down, but you already know that. Good luck with the Trials.”

She rises, gives him a wink and saunters away. As she passes Harvey she throws some kind of hand gesture towards him, and his clanging immediately ends.

“Let’s revisit the topic of alliances.”

* * *

Jessica takes her seat at the head of a dark wood conference table. Donna and Harvey sit just in front of her, facing each other, with four other District One Victors beside them. 

“Your best bet is Travis Tanner,” Scottie declares, sliding Travis’s file down the table. “Sponsors have already noticed his background. His dad’s a Peacekeeper, corrupt as they come, and he’s been well-fed and trained in combat since he could walk. He’s smart too, going by his grades. Looks almost like a Career.”

Donna and Harvey share a look. Then he shakes his head. “I don’t trust him.”

“The girl from his district’s twelve years old, and he dropped her the second they walked in the gym,” Donna adds. “If that’s his idea of loyalty, he’d just try to shank us at the Cornucopia.”

“How about District 10?” Vanessa asks.

“Too messy,” Harvey retorts. 

“Yeah,” Scottie chimes in. “They’ve been offering deals to half the city, and none of the ones I’ve heard so far make sense. They butcher things, in more ways than one.”

They lapse into thoughtful silence. Donna breaks it: “What about District 12? If I had to bet, Mike’s got an ace up his sleeve.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Jessica asks.

Donna winces. “Against my will I have to admit I don’t know.”

Jack leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “I know this isn’t the party line, but what if–”

“No,” Harvey cuts him off.

“I have to agree,” Jessica says. “We can’t deal in bad faith. If we lose our credibility, what will we have left?”

“The best Career training system Panem’s ever known?” Jack retorts.

“It’s more fragile than you think,” she cautions.

“Speaking of credibility,” Scottie jumps in, “12 has none. No mentors, no sponsors we can threaten.”

Jessica nods. “I don’t like the lack of leverage, and a theoretical ace isn’t enough to build a contract on. Any objections to just keeping the alliance with 2 for now?”

No one speaks up.

“We’ll reevaluate when we have more workable information. Now for the next order of business. Both tokens have been approved– the cloth circlet for Donna, and Specter’s mystery item . . .”

“Is it condoms? I’m betting it’s condoms,” Scottie snarks.

Harvey smirks right back. “I’m nothing if not practical.”


	5. Chapter 5

The third day of training culminates in the Trials. 

Harvey’s session is first of the twenty-four, and he strides in with his classic smirk, hellbent on ruining the judges for every other District. The doors close behind him, but a vicious clamor filters back out and leaves nothing to the imagination. He strides back out and throws a wink to Donna. He can’t guess precisely what she’s got planned– she switches up the exact number of knives every time– but he knows it’ll be fabulous.

Twenty-three Tributes go in and out, each varying in confidence. Mike is the last, visibly trembling in his seat. When the door opens he dithers for a minute, as if too frozen to enter.

When he does, he runs his fingers over the displayed weapons, picking up a knife only to swiftly set it back down. At last he chooses a bow and arrow and aims for a body-shaped target, squinting hard to line up his shot.

Twang!

He misses the target entirely, and his head swivels to face the Gamemakers. “Um, sorry about that! I’m just kinda nervous right now?”

Most of them aren’t even looking at him, focused on mingling and snacking among themselves. There’s a delicious-looking roast pig with an apple in its mouth. For a second Mike dreams of lifting his bow and shooting that apple right through the core.

But he looks back at the target, aiming for a glancing blow, and his arrow nicks the ear before bouncing off. He tries again and sends a shaft flying a few inches over the head. He empties his quiver this way, making one bad shot after the other, inflicting only the most minor injuries. Once he runs out he dashes about, collecting the arrows, and scurries back into place for a second chance to prove himself–

Only to have the timer ring.

“Thanks for your consideration,” he says with an apologetic smile. “. . . And sorry!”

He keeps his head down the whole way out.

* * *

When Gamemakers announce the scores from the Trials, Trevor gets an 8 and pumps his fist in the air. Then Mike’s 3 fades onto the screen, and Effie Trinket pierces the air with her shriek. Despite grimacing at the noise, Trevor shoots Mike a smile. “Jenny’s proud of us both, right now.”

* * *

Donna gets her 10. Harvey weighs in at 11. Even Jessica’s impressed by that, lifting her glass in a silent toast before they all turn to discussing next steps.

“That 3 is impressive,” Donna whispers in Harvey’s ear when the chatter of the room swells.

“Is it?”

Donna gives him a little shrug, and Harvey contemplates it– the amount of precision it takes to extract exactly the score you want, especially something as abnormal as a 3, which requires so delicate a mix of wasted effort and utter incompetence.

* * *

The next night– the last night– is for the interviews.

Harvey marches out onto Caesar Flickerman’s talk show stage like he owns the damn place. Even though his suit is simple, a deep grey three-piece ensemble, he looks suaver than his host. He is luxury personified, Caesar a mere bauble by comparison.

“It seems like we’ve known you an eternity, Specter.”

“Well, I’ve got many friends in the Capitol.” Settled at the edge of his chair, he winks. The Capitol roars back its approval.

“And how are you feeling about these Games?”

He leans into the mic without the slightest hesitation. “Donna and I are here to win and collect our prize. We’ve never been more ready in our lives.”

“Of course, of course.” Caesar lifts a hand to calm the audience, which dissolves into cheers at Harvey’s every word. “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. But tell me, Specter, what about you can still surprise us? We know so much about your fortitude, your prowess in battle, your resourcefulness . . . that sometimes it seems we don’t know the man underneath at all.”

“Caesar, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to humanize me.” Harvey widens his eyes, looking downright scandalized.

“Guilty! Guilty as charged.” He and the crowd let out a wild laugh. “But really, tell us something new about the young man under that  _ fabulous _ suit.”

Harvey shoots a casual glance off-stage to Jessica, who nods. “I love music.”

“Really? Any particular reason?”

Harvey shrugs, then drops his guard imperceptibly– except Mike, watching the spectacle on a small screen backstage, perceives it. “My father played all sorts of instruments. Saxophone, professionally, but also trumpet, trombone– and you should have heard what he could do with a harmonica.”

“I notice you use the past tense.”

“He had to quit because of his cough, passed away not too long after that.”

The crowd awws briefly and then forgets, the way the Capitol always forgets about suffering in the Districts, but Mike freezes in place. Harvey’s fatherless. All Mike’s research hadn’t told him that.

“And did he pass on any of his talent to you?”

“Well, arguably it’s my mother’s talent–” he grimaces– “but I sing.”

“Would you give us a small sample today?”

“Unfortunately, Caesar, that little clock over there says ‘no,’” Harvey says, flashing his smile, “so you’ll all have to wait for my show next year.”

He’s referring to the Victors’ talent show.

Right on cue, the timer goes off. Caesar thanks him and ushers him off-stage with difficulty– the audience keeps cheering madly, and Harvey keeps lingering, throwing waves and smirks, pouring fuel on the fire.

When he walks offstage Donna walks on. She squeezes his hand as he passes.

“So,” Caesar rumbles, “you’re Donna.”

“You have no idea how Donna I am.” She smooths the fabric of her gown, deep blue in its skirt but silver at the top, matching Harvey’s suit.

“You haven’t spent quite as much time in the Capitol as your fellow tribute,” he says with a hint of scolding, “so we don’t know as much about you.”

“Well, I cultivate my mysterious aura carefully.”

“Any secrets you want to spill before heading into the arena?”

“No secrets of mine, Caesar. But–” she angles an eyebrow– “perhaps I should share a few of yours?”

Caesar pulls back, eyebrows nearly receding into his pomade. 

“What is there to share?” he chuckles. “I’m an open book.”

“So the audience knows what you and your stage manager were doing with that tie backstage before the show?” With one question, she at last strikes Caesar dumb. Leaning in, she murmurs, “Let me fix it for you.”

Caesar is shocked to silence. The crowd fills in the gap as they catch on, raucous laughter pulsing through the stadium. Donna doesn’t even look at them, attention seemingly focused on the recalcitrant bowtie, but she’s got them electrified.

“Tell me,” Caesar says, panting a little when she’s finally done, “how could you possibly have known about that little  _ one-time _ indiscretion?”

“By virtue of being Donna, I know everything.”

Mike splits his attention between the screen and the other Tributes around him backstage. Harvey’s only got eyes for Donna, puffed up with pride as he watches the TV.

The crowd’s miserable when she goes, and the other Tributes have to struggle to recapture them. Kyle attempts to match District 1’s showmanship, but he’s too aggressive, too obvious, and the audience doesn’t reward him. Then Samantha tries her luck, trying to intimidate them with her frosty glare. It’s just awkward.

The crowd warms up again by the end of the night, when Trevor swaggers on. Just as planned, he tells them about Jenny and Mike, how they’re all the family they’ve got left now. In one last plea to sponsors, he boasts that he’s got more practice with survival skills than might be immediately obvious. He looks at the camera and calls Jenny’s name and swears he’ll do whatever it takes to win.

“Maybe we’re backwards,” he mutters, his charisma faltering for one second. “But District 12 still believes in true love.”

It’s Mike’s turn. He plays it cool and calm on the outside, but he can’t concentrate; Caesar’s words don’t even register for the first few seconds. But his memory knows how these interviews work, and he doesn’t seem to have mucked things up irreparably by the time the rest of his brain shows up again.

“Do you want to offer any explanation for your score?” Caesar says, dripping sympathy.

He shrugs. “Not really. I showed exactly what I wanted to show.”

“And what is that?”

“Nothing. Maybe I’m nothing. Maybe I’m just another stereotypical loser from District 12, a lamb already doomed to the slaughter. Or . . . maybe I’m something you’ve never seen before.”

Caesar cocks his head to the side, curious. “And what might that be?”

He snorts and shakes his head. “You know I can’t answer that. And now at least half of you think I’m bluffing. But here’s what I can tell you, without any ambiguity or half-truths. I’m here with my future brother-in-law. My brother, for all intents and purposes. And I’m going to do my goddamn best to get us both out alive.”

“Of course, I know you will,” Caesar gives him a placating pat on the knee. “But tell me, Mike, is there any girl– or boy, we won’t judge– who you’re fighting to return to?”

And a vision rises up unsummoned, of big, bright eyes and a radiant smile, but Mike pushes it down. “I’m doing this for my sister Jenny.”


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Trevor retreats to his bedroom and leaves Mike in the empty center of their apartment, the panic catches up.

Mike can’t do this. 

His statistics are meaningless. The odds will never be in his favor. He was a fool to think he could play this game when really he’s meant to bet on the Hunger Games, not fight in the arena himself. 

He needs a whole new strategy. 

He needs fresh air or else he’ll pass out where he stands.

* * *

Harvey meant to fall asleep easily, but his mind won’t clear. At any rate Jessica’s arranged a sleep-in for District 1, so he pushes off his covers, sends an Avox on a quick errand and then heads up to the rooftop. 

Scottie told him about the rooftop last year, how she ordered cookie dough and brought it up after winning. A force field thrums around the rooftop, barely visible, and she took advantage of it by flattening out the dough patties and roasting them with the electric current. Harvey opts for a healthy snack, something even District 1 doesn’t see often– fresh pineapple. The Avox brings him a platter piled high with slices.

He pitches them one at a time so they land flat against the force field and then bounce back, and he leaps light on his feet to catch them on the rebound. They caramelize on one side and burn hot on both, and he tosses them back and forth between his hands before depositing them back on the tray to cool.

He revels in the wind that lashes all the Capitol’s skyscrapers, embracing him.

* * *

Mike pushes open the door to the rooftop and cringes, crushed by a sudden blast of wind. He nearly retreats, until he sees Harvey Specter up here as well. Mike squints. He can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

“Is that pineapple?”

Though the wind was likely loud enough to cover his entrance, Harvey doesn’t start at the sound of Mike’s voice. “Yep.”

“And . . . why are you using the force field to cook pineapple?”

Harvey doesn’t turn around, still focused on the pineapple. “Well, I have no interest in using the force field for its intended purpose, so I might as well use it for practice.”

“Its intended purpose?” Harvey starts to speak, probably to gloat over his ignorance, but Mike figures it out. “Oh. That’s silly.”

“What is?”

“Just putting a force field around the roof. There’s at least three other ways to kill yourself in the apartments, and the Training Center’s got to have a wealth of options,” The words flow easily off Mike’s tongue, panic suddenly erased, Harvey’s confidence seeping into him by osmosis. “Not to mention someone really dedicated could just get something long and metal like an extension cord and shock themselves to death with the field.”

“You know what’s a sure-fire suicide method?” Harvey shoots back, finally glancing at him. “Volunteering for the Hunger Games from one of the outer districts.”

“I worry more about the volunteers from the inner districts. You know, Careers make the stupidest mistakes of all. It’s the overconfidence . . . Harvey.”

Mike’s using the first name to annoy him, needle him a bit, but instead a smile glints in Harvey’s eyes. “Is that a fact?”

“Harold Gunderson. I rest my case.”

Harvey snorts out loud, nearly dropping a pineapple slice. “Harold was, let’s say, a special case. I’m proud to say he was all District 4. There’s a reason Pearson Academy pretty much never allies with them.”

“Not as special as you might think,” Mike counters. “Around 60% of Careers who die die from easily preventable mistakes, compared to 40% of non-Careers.”

“What are you considering ‘easily preventable’?”

“Eating meat that probably already killed someone. Leaving fires that smoke openly when you’re not in an invincible position. Washing a wound with dirty water. Sleeping high in a tree on branches that aren’t necessarily weight-bearing. So on and so forth.”

He knows Harvey recognizes all of those, recalls how his peers made each of those mistakes while relying on their own sponsors and their reputations to protect them.

Mike pauses for a moment to listen to the wind, now blustery enough to hinder any microphones in the area. He strolls up closer to Harvey. “Hey, ask me anything you want, about any Games.”

Harvey turns his head. “Why?”

“I wanna show you what I didn’t show the Gamemakers.”

That gets his attention.

“Anything?” Harvey raises an eyebrow. “Tell me about the rule change during 46.”

Mike leans forward so he can answer quietly, speaking directly into his ear. “Girl from 3 caused a chemical fire on the second day, nearly suffocated everyone. The Gamemakers banned sponsors from sending in certain classes of chemicals. That same trend was furthered in the run-up to 53, when sponsor gifts became far more strictly regulated, as in the current style.”

“How did the older tribute from 7 die in 51?”

The answer’s quick this time– “Jessica Pearson ripped out his throat with her teeth.”

Harvey pauses, reaches for a slice of pineapple and tears out a chunk with his own teeth, and Mike sees a hint of a smile in his eyes again. Then he asks, “What was served at the feast in 22?”

“Perfectly healthy food.”

“Wrong.”

“No, not wrong, the food was all fine until the boy from 11 laced it all with assorted poisons. I think there were croissants.”

Harvey whips his head around to stare at Mike, who stands his ground and stares back.

“What do you want?” he finally asks.

“I want an initial alliance–” Mike throws the word out comfortably, well-aware that it’s a well-defined term in Career discourse– “between 1 and 12. Also some pineapple, I’ve never had any before.”

“No deal.”

“Why?”

“Trevor,” Harvey says simply. “Neither of you’s from an academy, I’d catch hell convincing Jessica and Donna and my sponsors that you’d be worth it. But you and _him_? No way.”

The panic resurges and leaves Mike struggling for words. “But– but he’s a great shot, he’s strong, he’s sensible–”

“And he’s still nothing special. Your research no doubt shows I’m no fan of Kyle Durant, but I’m still sure he could outdo Trevor at just about anything.”

“I’m telling you, he and I are a package deal.”

“And I’m telling you that I’m not making any deals regarding Trevor Evans. But . . .” He slings another pineapple slice at the force field, this time angling it oddly. “I have a counter-offer, valid as long as I’m alive.”

Mike catches the pineapple slice as it comes zinging back at _him_. “I’m listening.”

“We promise not to kill each other unless Donna, you, and I are the only tributes in these Games still alive.”

“Define ‘kill.’”

“Neither of us will take any action that will cause us to be credited with the other’s death on any of the official Games kill sheets.”

“You can still maim me and leave me to starve?”

“Only if I can be sure the starvation will do you in before the blood loss. Not likely.”

“How about we strengthen the terms and promise not to inflict any bodily harm on one another?”

Harvey shakes his head. “I can’t do that. I can however tell you that it’s to your advantage to stay out of 2’s way.”

That’s less than comforting, given that a broken leg might lead to his death without getting Harvey on the kill sheet, but Mike doubts he can get anything better. Harvey says he “can’t do that,” not that he _won’t_ ; there’s probably some clause in the 1-2 alliance restricting him. “Can you bring Donna in on this deal?”

“Sure. Even if I don’t tell her, she’d figure it out anyway.”

“She’s as good as she says?”

“Better. While the deal’s intact, none of us three will kill either or both of the other two. But you can’t tell anyone else. If I find out that you’ve gone public, the deal’s off, and I _will_ hunt you down.”

“How would you know?” Mike blows on his pineapple.

“Jessica might not be in the arena, but that doesn’t mean she can’t chew me out.”

Mike finally puts the pineapple in his mouth, and his eyes widen when the fruit hits his tongue. “Wow, this is amazing! I read that it had a rough exterior, but nobody told me how sweet it’d be on the inside–”

Harvey gives him a look as he jabbers, but it’s a lenient one. “How do you know I didn’t poison all the pineapple?”

“I considered the possibility,” Mike says, mouth now half-full of superheated fruit, “since poison resistance is one of those things you pick up at Pearson Academy– luckily, I’ve got drug resistance as a result of being a screw-up . . . But I don’t think you’d try a trick like that until we’re in the arena.”

“You don’t trust me,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Why should I?”

“Because of Pearson Academy’s years of credibility and good faith?”

Mike snorts.

Harvey glances up at the eaves, likely all dotted by cameras and mics. “You’re more entertaining than either of those District 2 losers I’ve been allied with for the past two years. Trust that.”

That’s not particularly comforting either, but it’s true that his novelty factor’s the main thing going for him right now. “So we have a deal?”

“We do.”

Mike reaches out, and they shake hands.

But before he can let go Harvey pulls him close and whispers, “And if you go back on it, I will make you suffer. They focus to teaching us quick, efficient killing techniques at the Academy, but I’ve picked up a few more enjoyable ones over time.”

Mike doesn’t break eye contact. He just plucks the last piece of pineapple from the tray and flings it into the field. Harvey just barely turns to catch it before it brands him on the neck. When he turns back, Mike is gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fun writing petty Suits squabbling in, uh, other arenas.

_ 60, 59, 58– _

Forest world, check. Mined platforms, check. Goodies at the Cornucopia, check.

As the timer counts down, Tributes prepare for battle. They’ve been arranged in a ring, each placed on a short metal platform that will explode if they move too early. Right now they all stand in a clearing with grass and a small lake, but Mike ignores those for the giant metal Cornucopia in the center. He examines the Cornucopia and the bags of food and medicine and weapons scattered all around it, gathering in all the information, predicting the contents and value of every bag in sight. His eyes jerk up to memorize all the other tributes and place bets. Next he analyzes the scale of this opening scene, the radius of the ring of Tributes and the proportions of the Cornucopia, and estimates the arena size. It looks like a forest straight out of District 12, and for the first time the odds are tilting in Mike’s favor.

Another stroke of luck– Trevor’s in sight, eyes darting between Mike and a bow. Mike gives him a quick nod and keeps cataloguing everything that he can see. There’s a large, flashy sack of supplies near him, and a less obvious pack a couple feet away. The big one will probably cause a bloodbath, the little bald boy from 7 is already eyeing it, so the smaller one it is. Mike doubts it’ll have food, but given the arena type it won’t be starvation that does him and Trevor in.

Harvey stands on the platform next to Mike, ready to lunge. He stares straight at the front of the Cornucopia. Donna’s a few platforms over. Kyle and Samantha are blocked from view, both stuck on the other side of the Cornucopia.

_ 10, 9, 8, 7– _

“Let the 74th Hunger Games begin!”

Mike is off and running before “Let” is over. So are the Careers, and Trevor’s just a second behind. As Mike guessed, a brawl breaks out over the big pack even as he lays claim to the smaller one easily. Nearby, he finds a collection of knives lying in the grass, and he snatches those up. He steals one more look at the arena.

Trevor’s charging to the bow single-mindedly, punching people out of his way. The Careers have consolidated power at the Cornucopia, the way they must have practiced with their simulations, dividing the clearing around them into quadrants. Harvey’s chucking weapons to Kyle and Samantha, who clinically eliminate everyone in their half. Donna’s already got hold of her darling throwing knives, and all the Tributes still in her quadrant are collapsing one by one. Harvey readies a javelin, eyes focused Trevor, and Mike sprints–

He hurls himself in front of Trevor, and when Harvey lets the javelin loose it transfixes someone else.

Mike pushes Trevor with a wordless yell and covers his back all the way out of the clearing.

The cannon– the official signal of a Tribute death– fires nonstop.

* * *

“Water,” Mike says, voice just loud enough for the mics. “That’s what we need to prioritize right now. The Cornucopia’s always in the center of the arena, and there was a lake there. Given how arena designers like the balance and symmetry of a good bullseye design, there’s probably a river ringing the entire place.”

He and Trevor slink out quietly. Navigating the forest, they recognize the berries, the brambles, the trees and moss. They know how to step silently– not to keep from frightening their prey as before, but to avoid the attention of predators. But some things are new to them. Mike points them out to Trevor, the flowers that shouldn’t be blooming together. The leaves that aren’t quite the right color. The overdense lichen.

The bark that clings too thick. Mike knows if he peeled it off the tree trunks, he would find veins like xylem, ferrying gasoline rather than water and nutrients.

A cannon goes off. Mike recalibrates the odds that Harvey’s still perfectly intact.

* * *

“Kyle, what the hell was that?” Samantha sneers. “You completely blew that shot, we could have taken both 10s down.”

“Kill the drama now,” Donna orders, drawing a finger across her neck for emphasis. “What’s the count?”

“I shot him–” she waves at the corpses of two boys from 4 and 11– “and him.”

“I got him.” Kyle points at the boy from 3 before sniveling, “But then I ran out of weapons because you two–” he jabs a finger at Donna and Harvey– “hogged the goddamn spears.”

“Kyle,” Donna says with a note of warning, “there were plenty of other projectiles.”

“What was I supposed to do with an axe?”

“Throw it,” Donna and Samantha both reply. Samantha throws in an eyeroll for good measure.

Their sniping’s cut off by a cannon.

Harvey’s eyes snap up from the jars of medicine he’s sorting through, sitting a short distance from the other three. Donna tilts her head at him, and he drags his features back under control.

“I think that one was yours,” she says. “Girl from 11– you pierced her femoral artery. She couldn’t have made it far.”

“Right.” He gives her a brisk nod before jerking his head to the side, where the girls from 4 and 7 and the boy from 6 lie lifeless. “I also took down those three, thanks to being competent with more than one weapon.”

“And I got the girls from 3, 5, and 8,” Donna concludes, shaking her head at his theatrics. “There should be another death soon– Travis. He decided to go for hand-in-hand combat, and Harvey wounded him pretty badly.”

“Looks to me like he held his own,” Kyle says, smirking at Harvey’s wound. 

He had landed a blow with serrated knife, ripping open Harvey’s shirt and the shoulder below. Yet his hands are steady as he rifles through all the Cornucopia’s medicine. When he lands on a top-grade topical healing cream, he unscrews the cap and looks to Donna, who takes it with a nod and starts smearing the ointment on his shoulder. They’re unruffled by the sight of his blood. 

“Just means Travis Tanner will that be much more fun for me to kill,” Harvey says with a peaceful smile.

* * *

A gift floats down next to Donna, a small silver pot attached to a parachute. As she retrieves it, Samantha and Kyle quiet for once, and Harvey quickly comes over.

Donna opens the lid of the pot and finds coffee. “Well, Specter, it’s already time for our caffeine fix.”

He takes it from her and swirls it, contemplating its light color– tinged both with cream and the warm red-brown of caramel– and taking a sip. “Not to my taste.”

“Well then, stop hogging it.” As Harvey rolls his eyes and hands it over, she blows a kiss at the sky. “My gratitude to Jessica, and whoever else paid for this!”

After gulping down the coffee, she looks up at Harvey, wiping a mouth with the back of her hand. There’s a sharp shine in her eye. Harvey matches it.

“You,” he says to 2’s Tributes, “guard the Cornucopia. Donna and I are going hunting.”

* * *

Trevor and Mike fall into an easy rhythm, moving steadily away from the Cornucopia. Mike collects greenery along the way, cutting leaves and bark free with his knives. Trevor keeps an arrow nocked and ready to defend them. As they hike, they banter the way they did every morning back home.

“Looks like this forest is right out of Appalachia. The Gamemakers did an excellent job,” Mike remarks.

“Yeah,” Trevor agrees. “I’ve seen a lot of these trees right outside the fence.”

He throws Mike a smirk just for them as he pretends they haven’t spent years wandering beyond the border.

“Animals, too. You know, Grammy used to tell me stories about them.” And so Mike starts in on an informative lecture, sprinkling in District 12 lore, a couple of scientific facts, enough to make them seem interesting and engaging and informed while also explaining why they have so much insight into the arena. They’re pulling focus from all the other Tributes. With luck, they’ll have starring roles in Caesar’s nightly review.

There’s no sign of water yet, and so they forge on.


	8. Chapter 8

Harvey and Donna are silent, downright professional as they creep through the arena. They catch each other’s glances, communicating through the tilts of their heads and the flickers of their eyes, and they don’t let out a sound. They keep their mouths sealed shut as they stalk prey– rabbits, birds . . .

They stumble on Amy, a diminutive 13-year-old from 6. She crouches low to the ground, dark curls obscuring her face, blubbering into the palms of her hands. Donna gestures to Harvey. He conceals himself behind a tree. She steps forward alone, one hand laying soft on the knife tucked in her waistband.

“Amy?” 

Amy’s head snaps up. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot. Her chest heaves far too rapidly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Donna says, glancing around. “Just tell me what happened– did someone attack you? Is there some sort of animal here?”

Her eyes widen, and she starts stuttering: “Specter. Specter.”

Donna frowns. “Specter didn’t touch you.”

“Specter,” she mutters. “Specter killed him!”

And she’s flying at Donna, nails bared for her throat. She doesn’t make it two steps before Harvey emerges from his hiding place and disembowels her.

Once Amy collapses with the cannon, Donna narrows her eyes. “Something was wrong with her, and I’m not sure what.”

Harvey drops down to check the body. He performs a quick examination, retrieving a small bag of crackers. “I don’t see anything strange. ”

A parachute lands besides him later, bearing a silver pot with eight blueberries inside. Harvey purses his lips when he sees them. “Think it was just a reaction to stress?”

“Maybe,” Donna muses, “but I didn’t think she was that deeply attached to her teammate.”

They look at each other, and then Harvey jerks his head back towards the Cornucopia. As they retrace their steps, he tosses four berries to Donna and pops the rest in his own mouth.

* * *

Committed to their unbending path, Trevor and Mike find water just as predicted– a broad, fast-flowing river. They drink their fill, and Mike stores more in two canteens from his pack.

“Hey, Mikey, where should we make camp?”

Mike doesn’t answer Trevor immediately, though he’s been asking himself the same question. He’s noticed the trees on the outskirts of the arena are all rigged with explosives. He doesn’t think the Gamemakers will trigger them on the first day, but still–

“The river will attract too much traffic,” he says out loud, “so we should head back in. Not too close to the Cornucopia, though.“

“That’s where the damn Careers will be,” Trevor finishes with a scowl.

They start moving back towards the center, but the flash of silver stops them–

“That can’t be for us, can it?” Trevor asks.

“Statistically unlikely,” he answers, even as he creeps towards the silver sponsor pot glinting under a nearby bramble. “Yeah, no, it’s empty, and I can’t tell what was in here. We can use it to get more water, though.”

They return to the river, fill the pot with water, and then head back inside. Mike stops them soon after dusk, just beyond the trees’ firing range.

They climb up two trunks and arrange themselves on solid-looking branches, and Mike takes the first watch. Trevor’s already nodded off when the memorial to fallen Tributes starts. When it starts off with the boy from 3, skipping the Tributes from 1 and 2, Mike releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

* * *

The night passes without event, and the next morning Mike and Trevor return to the edge of the arena to get more water. As they approach the bank, they see tracks in the mud.

“Just one person,” Mike mutters. “Probably not the Careers, or the 9s or 10s.”

“We can take them down.”

“Trevor? Not a great idea. Let’s just get out of here.”

“It’s two against one, and probably not a Career. What are our odds?”

“Decent, but . . .”

“But we’re not actually weak, and we have the element of surprise, and– ow!”

Trevor’s knees buckle as a dart buries itself in his foot. Hearing another pop, Mike dodges on instinct, and a dart whizzes past his ear. He throws a knife in the direction the darts came from and hears it thud against a tree, followed by the sound of brush crackling and someone running. Mike starts chasing their attacker down, but Trevor’s groan stops him.

“Trevor? Trevor, stay with me.” Mike curses and drops to his knees, and he takes a knife from his pack and cuts off the leg of Trevor’s pants to check the wound. He sees streaks of black spreading from the wound, and he uses the cloth to extract the dart from the tree. “Nightlock juice.”

And Mike’s pulling out the darts from both the tree and Trevor’s leg, flipping through the encyclopedias in his mind, reviewing every plant he’s seen in the arena. He’s assembled an apothecary in his pockets, and now he’s pulling out sunnut seeds, popping them in his mouth and chewing them into a paste that he slathers onto Trevor’s thigh. 

“Ugh,” Trevor grimaces. “Only Jenny can touch me there.”

“If I weren’t trying to save you I’d kill you right now,” Mike retorts. “Don’t move unless you have to.”

Mike bursts away down paths he hasn’t traveled before, dashing in a straight line to a place where he’d seen a Verdine tree. He frantically strips it of both bark and leaves, and then sprints back, hoping against hope that Trevor’s safe. He hasn’t taken new damage, no, but he’s breathing shallowly as the second, slightly slower poison in nightlock berries kicks in and strangles his throat.

Mike crushes the leaves in his fist and places them in Trevor’s mouth. “Try to swallow, fast as you can.” And he pours down the last of his own water with the bark. Crushing the leaves freed an antidote dew that should be absorbed quickly, and the bark will keep releasing more of the antidote over the next few hours.

Gradually, the anaphylaxis fades. Trevor’s breathing relaxes. Mike can’t keep the grin off his face. 

“Keep eating the bark,” he advises. “I’ll get water.”

Mike makes his way towards the river. There are clearer footsteps on the muddy banks– the attacker ultimately disappeared into the river and swam with the current– he could be ages away by now. But there’s only one person with feet quite so small. The lone 12-year-old of the bunch.

“Eric Woodall, District 7,” Mike murmurs.

* * *

A silver pot of fruit lands by Harvey at the Cornucopia. Harvey twists it open and finds a set of small red berries.

“It’s worth stocking up on poison antidotes,” he remarks. “Donna and I can go collect some.”

Yet another pot lands by Donna, and she opens it. “Harvey.”

Her tone is cautious, and Harvey steels his expression before he goes to look.

“I was right about the silent scheming,” she says. “And the 3.”

“Your original guess was 2.”

Samantha and Kyle frown at them, clearly confused. Harvey ignores them, plucks out a purple berry from the new pot, and pops it in his mouth, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Good berries, huh?” asks Samantha.

“Sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

* * *

Mike and Trevor start hiking, hoping for a more advantageous spot to spend the night, but the wound slows them down. Trevor grumbles under his breath. Mike ignores that. But there’s no denying the way he repeatedly stumbles on easy ground, and that’s why Mike cuts their losses. They end up picking another tree like last night’s, with a bush where Trevor can hide himself while Mike climbs up again.

“Hey, Mike,” Trevor says before they start climbing. “I wanna say hi to Jenny.”

Mike pauses, then looks up at the trees around them, sure that at least one camera will catch him. “Okay. Hi, Jenny. We’re still in the game, the odds are more in our favor than the gamblers previously thought, and we can’t wait to come home to you.”

“Jenny,” Trevor adds, “I’m sorry I let Mike touch me so intimately.”

“Trevor–”

“Okay, okay, I’ll refrain from taking this golden opportunity to embarrass you on national television, you’re both welcome.” He laughs as Mike drops his face into his hands. “And Jenny? I love you, kid. And yeah, I’m going to wear this ring for you, even though technically I’m supposed to be the one who asked you–”

“Trevor–”

“But gender roles are for losers,” he finishes, grinning broadly, happily flashing his ring at the cameras.

* * *

Mike takes the second watch, gripping Trevor’s bow, peering into the darkness, listening as carefully as he can–

And still, he doesn’t notice Donna approaching until she’s at the base of his tree.

Immediately, she raises a knife, and he raises his bow, ready to shoot her. But her gaze falters, darting among the leaves, as if she can’t make out anything for sure. She puts the knife away, turning away with a frown to clean the lenses of her night-vision goggles with a napkin she pulled from somewhere.

“Found someone?” Harvey emerges from the trees, only a short while behind her.

“No, must have been an animal,” she replies. “Let’s keep moving.”

She begins leading Harvey forward. 

There’s a sudden flash of light. Mike doesn’t dare move, but he knows the source– the Gamemakers are compensating for a slow second day by putting their explosive trees into action.

“They’re flushing people out.” A vicious smile lights up Harvey’s face, and he and Donna charge forth, towards the edge of the arena. Mike waits about half-an-hour, watching the sky go grey and red with smoke . . .

He nearly topples out of his tree when two cannons go off.


	9. Chapter 9

District 12’s team makes it through the night without incident. Trevor wakes Mike early the next morning, voice soft so as not to startle him off his branch. Without commentary Trevor passes over the bow and arrow, and then they repeat their morning routine, crossing now charred forest to reach the river. Smoke still wafts up around them in lacy patterns.

In the fire-marred landscape, it takes Mike a few minutes longer than usual to make out the tracks. 

They’re imprinted in the dirt– light, half-formed pawprints. Where the toes should go there are gouges, slicing easily through soil and solid rock. Mike spins back around to see the whole pack _behind_ him, where they’ve stalked him and Trevor for longer than he wants to guess. For one tense second he’s held captive in their gaze, paralyzed by bright yellow eyes.

“Mutts!”

They burst into full snarling sound, ash rising where their paws brush the ground, springing straight towards him and Trevor. Red foam spews from their jaws. It spatters the ground and fills the air with the smell of blood. 

Mike runs. He snags Trevor by the elbow and drags him along, calculating the time it’ll take them to reach the river. Too long, too long, he can feel their bloody breath puffing hot just behind him. He switches plans. 

“Up!” Mike grabs the nearest tree and climbs, scrabbling at bark and twigs and hoping their mutated anatomy won’t let them follow. He launches himself onto the first sturdy branch and twists around just in time to see Trevor one tree over. Trevor struggles to clamber on, face warped with pain as he tries to hook his injured leg around the trunk.

They shout in unison when Trevor slips.

One mutt sinks in its teeth and drags him down. Trevor kicks it off with his good leg, and Mike contorts himself to get a clear shot without falling too. His first arrow strikes true. So does his second. He empties his quiver into the blur of fur and foam around Trevor, dead-set on not hitting _him_ even though the numbers flit through his head, the muttmakers’ lists of designer toxins, and Mike knows these odds, he knows, he’s out of arrows and it doesn’t matter because he _knows –_

A second wave of growling mixes with Trevor’s shouts. Colorful cursing drowns out them both.

Hope flares hot and rabid in Mike’s chest because there’s Harvey, splattered with red but still tall and glorious and _fighting_ . Five more mutts are pursuing him, backing him against a tree just like Mike’s, but Donna’s pursuing _them_ , chasing them with rage on her face and knives fanned out in her hand.

“Harvey,” Mike calls.

“Little busy at the moment!” He whips around, ungelled hair flying freely as he lunges and impales two monsters at once.

The mutts all converge on Careers, drawn to battle. They leave Trevor crumpled on the ground. Mikes squints, trying to judge the wounds. They flow freely, but still Trevor’s breathing, he’s still breathing, eyes still fluttering open to meet Mike’s.

“Whatever you want,” Mike pleads. “I swear, I’ll give you whatever.”

“He’s an anchor–” Harvey guts a mutt with one twirl of his spear– “dragging you down.” He kicks another one in the knee, cracking its bone.

Trevor lifts a faltering hand to his mouth and wipes his mouth. It comes away red with foam. Mike barely notices before the seizure hits, rocking Trevor’s whole body, rolling his eyes back to reveal the whites.

“Harvey, help me out here!”

Harvey gets one moment of respite as the remaining mutts turn to Donna. He glances at Trevor, then at Mike, his own eyes wide and oddly frightened. “You asked.”

In one elegant move he twists and spears Trevor’s neck.

* * *

Mike doesn’t remember.

He doesn’t remember the cannon. He doesn’t remember dropping down from his tree, though logic dictates that he must have. He doesn’t remember fleeing the battle. He doesn’t remember losing his bow. He doesn’t remember why he came here, what path he took, where he’s ended up on the arena map.

He doesn’t remember anything until he’s pitching breathless into the dirt, sobbing openly. His eyes burn. His lungs burn. His skin is on fire, and he knows, he finally knows what it was like in the mine explosion.

He doesn’t remember how much of this he said out loud.

He can’t keep food down. He can’t fall asleep, though he knows he should. He can’t see it coming, the way his mental fever turns literal, leaving him sweaty and shaking from chills, tottering at random through the trees.

* * *

“Trevor,” he weeps. “Trevor. Trevor. Trevor. _Jenny_.”

* * *

It’s Jenny who snaps him from the worst of his delirium, and he comes to sick, finally worn out by the exhaustion and hunger and lack of hygiene. He’s catalogued a few fever-reducing herbs in the forest, but he doesn’t like his odds with them. What he needs is a general-purpose anti-germ medication.

There were plenty of those at the Cornucopia.

* * *

That night Harvey fusses over the campfire, poking at it restlessly, changing its structure again and again. Once Donna finishes gathering the fish for dinner, she drops them in front of Kyle to clean and then takes a seat beside Harvey. Placing her hand in his, she curls their fingers together.

“Look forward,” she murmurs. “And we can let Kyle and Samantha off their leashes. They’ve been waiting to put on a show.”

* * *

Mike half-expects to be hunted down, but there might just be something more entertaining happening tonight.

Somewhere in the distance, Mike hears another cannon, and that confirms things. His tears overflow once again, because there goes another child. Maybe a Career. More likely the victim of one.

He remembers something Jessica Pearson had said once, explaining how she can arrange alliances with enemies, year after year: “In the arena, our Tributes consider their opponents enemies. But once out? We don’t. Even if our Tributes fall, the Victors aren’t real enemies to us.”

And yet Mike knows there is an enemy here.

He sings himself to sleep, stealing what rest he can before day breaks.


	10. Chapter 10

Sunrise.

Mike descends from his tree, aching, hot, and itching for revenge. The odds he’ll survive alone are next to none. The odds he’ll persuade a sponsor to help him are worse. It’s time to go big or go home.

(In a casket, according to the odds.)

Mike snorts at his own joke before craning his head up, scanning several trees to identify a camera. Once he finds one, he pastes on a chipper grin and addresses it. “Good morning, Ms. Rand, Mr. Kaldor, Ms. Pearson. Ms. Pearson, have you had your coffee today?”

He can almost hear the lens rotating, zooming in on him. He abandons that camera to go for a stroll, drifting closer towards the center of the arena. 

While he ambles along, he keeps up his nonchalant monologue, certain every camera in the area’s now trained on him. “I noticed–” he pushes a fern out of his way with a careless nudge of the foot– “that you pushed to have a lot more coffee customization options added for sponsor gifts this year around. I’d say that was a waste of your time, but then–” he plucks a few berries off a tree and tosses them in his mouth for breakfast– “I’d have to be an idiot. I had figured out the whole tea code last year. Made a tidy sum off it too before the casino banned me. Coffee’s probably better for messaging purposes, though. The toppings can probably pack more info into a single cup. Add in some berries, and you’ve got a snack almost as informative as Caesar’s nightly review.”

He stops for a moment, suddenly faint, and tries to pass his swaying off as casually leaning on a tree.

“Now,” he chuckles, just a bit too breathless, teetering just too far down the side of madness, “you can dismiss this as a fevered man’s rambling and have the Careers kill me off as soon as I get within range. But I’d like to offer you a deal. I form separate alliances with 1 and 2, viable as long as both tributes of the district are both still alive– because you can’t possibly trust me enough to leave me with one of them alone. They help me, specifically letting me into their medicine stores so this damn pathogen doesn’t knock me off. In return, I help them.”

He holds tight to the memory of Harvey, swaying the whole Capitol audience in that damn gray suit, his confidence seemingly effortless.

“Now, what could I have that you want? Knowledge. They’ve been training for this from childhood, but so have I.” A cackle rises in his throat at how true that is, how much practice he’s had at having his loved ones die, but he drags it back down. “And maybe they can hold their own in a fight, but I can do better. I can take out the entire river as a water source within 12 hours, provided you cooperate and give me access to the Cornucopia. As long as you keep the lake, you control all the water in the arena. And frankly, you can even poison that and just live off sponsor gifts. You take me in as an ally, and these will be the shortest Games in years.”

He lets that settle in for a few minutes, quiet but for the odd crackle of twigs beneath his feet.

“But, you ask, how do you know this isn’t an elaborate revenge scheme to take down Harvey for killing Trevor?” He shrugs. “You can’t know, not for sure. But I happen to know the sponsor gift guidebook almost as well as you do, and I recognize that sending in a designer drug to combat Trevor’s poison would take almost the maximum amount of money than any of your sponsors would be willing to spend for Harvey himself. There was no way Trevor was going to make it, because no sponsor would shell out the money that quick for a drug that at best would have a 50% success rate. Harvey saved him from a painful death–” he squeezes his eyes for a second, trying to banish the bloody scene from his mind – “so as I see it, he’s not a real enemy here. Send me tokens, one from each of you, if you accept.”

Mike proceeds slowly, deliberately towards the center of the bullseye, allowing them a little time to think it over. He doesn’t know if they will take him up on it. Maybe they  _ can’t _ take him up on it, tied up in too many knots by the provisions of 1 and 2’s own alliance . . .

Silver flashes. A parachute thumps a few feet in front of him. He unscrews the pot and retrieves an empty, unaddressed mail envelope. He can’t guess who it came from– Rand Kaldor or Pearson.

The second parachute never comes. As he draws closer to the clearing, he finds out why.

“Explain to me–” there’s Donna’s voice, bright and exasperated– “how Kyle fell out of a tree.”

“Because Eric was sleeping up in one,” Samantha snaps back. “Kyle climbed up for a better shot, misjudged how much weight the branch could bear, and snap.”

“That’s tragic,” Harvey offers. “So easily preventable.”

“Save it,” she answers. “I don’t want your sympathy. Just keep to the alliance, if you care about your Academy’s integrity.”

There’s something brittle in how she utters “integrity.”

“Speaking of alliances,” Donna returns, “District 1 has a new one. Come on out!”

He inches out from the shadows Samantha raises her javelin, but Harvey barks, “No! 2 has to honor 1’s first deal. Ninth clause in your contract.”

Rumors have swirled about a forced reciprocity provision for ages, and 1 must have finally gotten into the contract. Mike would bet the clause is one-sided to favor Pearson Academy, just one more benefit of ruling supreme over the rest of Panem. He ignores the impulse to remind them that, technically, 1’s first bargain was the pineapple deal. Instead he bites his tongue, straightens up, and edges into the clearing.

Samantha lowers her weapon with a glower and demands, “Why him?”

“It was Jessica’s call,” Harvey shrugs. “Though, Mike, we need to hear your terms as well.”

“I negotiated with Ms. Pearson,” he replies. “This should be proof that she signed off.”

He extends the envelope. Donna grabs it and examines it before passing it to Harvey, who takes it with a curious look and nods. “What are the details?”

“Standard alliance terms. A two-way street, I help you and you help me. Specifically, I’m going to help you rule out the river as a water supply for the whole damn arena. This alliance lasts as long as both Harvey and Donna are alive.”

A parachute plummets down right on cue. Donna opens the attached can, counts up the berries inside, and throws Harvey a thumbs-up.

“I hope you understand, Mike,” Harvey says, stepping forward with his arms crossed, “that all prior contracts remain intact.”

Mike keeps his face carefully blank.

“The 1-2 alliance explicitly takes priority over any and all other deals 1 makes,” he continues, “And there’s a revenge clause in there. You threaten Samantha, we attack you.”

Mike notes the use of the word “attack”– not “kill.” Harvey must consider the pineapple deal intact– fat lot of good it’ll do Mike if Donna and Harvey just incapacitate him and leave him to starve or be eaten himself. He had suspected the 1-2 alliance had a revenge clause, given Harvey’s hedging when faced with a “no bodily harm” version of their deal, and he’s glad now that he never had any real hope of killing 2s. 

He doesn’t like Samantha’s stare, eyes huge and boring into him.

“I won’t make you do that,” Mike says, now staggering back as another wave of lightheadedness hits. Relief softens Harvey’s face.

It’s ridiculous, their quasi-legal wrangling in this lawless spectacle, but still Mike trusts it. He trusts the integrity of Pearson Academy. Rand Kaldor Academy, too. In light of Harvey’s relief Mike offers him a small smile.

“So that’s settled,” Harvey says. “Let’s get you well enough to put your master plan into practice.”

* * *

Without further ado, Donna hands Mike a packet of anti-germ pills. He swallows them with the last water in his canteen. The fever starts to recede in minutes.

Then Donna pushes several anti-bacterial wipes at him. “You stink. Wipe yourself off before the pills knock you out.”

Mike accepts the wipes gratefully; he must look horrific next to the Careers. All three of them are surprisingly put-together, outfits washed with their tears stitched up. It’s all for the sponsors’ benefit. She leaves him alone in the now empty hollow of the Cornucopia to strip and briskly wipe five days’ grime off his skin, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not really alone– all of Panem’s watching.

His traitorous brain starts wondering whether Harvey goes through the same ritual. Or does he strip openly by the lake, to pour all the water he could want directly onto bare skin–

The fever’s not entirely gone yet. Mike shakes himself, buffeted by a fresh wave of pain now tinged with guilt.

The pills knock him out soon enough. He falls asleep calculating the odds that he’ll wake up again.


	11. Chapter 11

A small silver cup arrives by parachute, settling down by Samantha. She unscrews it and takes a sip. She cocks her head to the side in challenge and announces, “It’s warm green tea.” 

“Would you like to explain what that means?” Donna asks.

“You know I can’t do that,” she replies with a smug smile. She drinks up without saying a thing more.

* * *

Mike awakes, feeling stiff and dried out but nonetheless rested. He peels himself off the floor and emerges from the Cornucopia’s hollow, following the scent of roasting meat.

“Good,” Donna remarks as soon as he steps out, “you don’t look ready to collapse anymore.”

Mike turns to find Harvey crouching by a campfire, preparing an early dinner. He’s turning some sort of a bird on an improvised spit– so the sponsors don’t buy him  _ everything _ . It smells surprisingly delicious. He’s squeezing berries on top.

“I went hunting while you were out and collected some poison antidotes, in case Eric swings by,” Donna informs him while handing him a set of night-vision goggles and another dose of pills. “I didn’t run into anybody or see anything new. Nobody died.”

Mike nods briskly, then takes his medicine and kneels down by Harvey. He’s skinning another bird and dressing it with mint and other random herbs– all garden-variety non-poisonous plants, as far as Mike can tell.

“I never expected gourmet cooking in the Hunger Games,” he snorts.

“Scottie– Dana from 73– taught me this particular recipe,” Harvey says with surprising fondness. “If you hate it, take it up with her.”

“Just don’t give us food poisoning,” Donna comments.

“When have I ever?”

She just raises an eyebrow.

“That wasn’t my fault,” he mutters. “You got sick because you drank too much scotch.”

Mike’s eyebrows shoot up. “You guys drink scotch?”

“Entirely without permission, Pearson Academy in no way endorses underage drinking or any sort of illicit drug use,” Harvey reels off, flashing a smile up at the trees. “Right, Jessica?”

Donna rolls her eyes at him, and Mike feels another stab of grief, watching their sibling-esque banter. Standing a little ways off, Samantha shoots them all a disapproving look.

Harvey removes the bird from the spit and tears some of the flesh off, blowing on it briefly before depositing it in Mike’s hand. He takes his first bite of the meat and moans outright at the flavor–

“5!” bellows Samantha.

Two knives and a javelin whiz through the air before Mike even turns his head. The boy from 5 collapses in the clearing, still several feet from the pile of supplies he was aiming for.

Mike glances at the 1s, wondering why they weren’t alerted, only to find his alarm reflected on their faces. When Donna goes to check the body for supplies Samantha joins her, her smile growing even more smug.

Mike takes a deep breath and looks back down at his dinner.

* * *

Night falls. 

While Donna patrols the perimeter the other three form an efficient assembly line, making snares to catch their breakfast. Fighting back his weariness, Mike sits in the clearing and ties a trap together from shoots and branches.

Just as the memorial for fallen Tributes starts to play in the sky, Samantha wanders by Mike with another armful of greenery. Donna paces a short way off, looking out of the clearing and into the forest. Harvey is out of sight in the woods, hacking away at the trees for more material.

“You’re doing your knots all wrong,” Samantha scolds.

Mike starts to disagree, because while he hasn’t ever used this particular style before he totally has the pictures from the training center memorized, but he falls silent as she bends down and starts redoing parts, in exactly the same pattern he had used.

As Kyle’s face flashes above them, she murmurs, “You want revenge for Trevor’s death, don’t you?”

Cameramen almost never cut away from the memorial. With that in mind he replies, “That obvious?”

“To hell with the 1-2 alliance. Let’s take them down together, and then we’ll go our separate ways.”

Mike raises his eyebrows as she so easily dismisses her contract; she must be positive that the cinematographers won’t cut to them. He wants to ask how he can trust  _ her _ –

But the memorial is already over.

Samantha finishes retying his snare– less neatly than he had, for the record– and then straightens up as Harvey returns with a load of branches. Donna turns towards him. Mike gets up himself and tenses, preparing …

“She asked me to help her kill you both.”

He sprints towards the Cornucopia for cover just as Samantha whirls around, raising her knife. Harvey drops the branches and glances at Donna, who nods. Samantha lets her knife go, scraping Mike’s shoulder. Before she can inflict another blow, Harvey runs her through with her own javelin.

And even before the cannon boom stops echoing, Donna’s pointing her blade at Mike, her voice deadly calm. “Caesar will play back your conversation with her in the daily review, which should start roughly five minutes from now. Anything you want to tell us before then?”

It’s true– Caesar will make a show of revealing that scene, and so there’s no point to saying anything but the truth, not with Jessica fact-checking his every word from outside the arena.

So he states the truth, as plainly as he can. “She asked me if I wanted revenge for Trevor. I said yes. She then made a plan for us to cut you both down. If you put  _ any _ of the standard language of an alliance into your contract, she breached it. Even if she was waiting for me to move against you and then she was going to turn on me and kill me ‘for your sake,’ she risked the possibility that I’d do one or both of you in first.”

“You breached our contract the same damn way when you teamed up with her,” Harvey snaps, strangely breathless. “She could have killed us before you could give a warning.”

“Good thing I never actually agreed to her plan,” Mike says. “She just assumed I did, and I didn’t have time to correct her before the memorial ended.”

“But,” Donna retorts, her tone cool, almost conversational, “maybe your warning made us kill off an ally who was actually faithful to us and just testing you. That definitely wouldn’t have been helpful to us, and would potentially be in violation of your alliance.”

She doesn’t seem to buy the argument even as she makes it. This is just a battle for the cameras.

Donna and Harvey are proactively defending the 1-12 alliance.

And so he demolishes her argument, right on cue. “District 12 has no inherent credibility– you trust me because I need your pills and after tomorrow I’ll need your sponsors’ water. But Samantha? She does care about Rand Kaldor Academy, the rumors said she might have even taken it over one day, and I don’t think she would have put their reputation into question without meaning to follow through.”

They fall silent, waiting for Caesar’s interview, none of them daring to move.

“For younger students,” Harvey suddenly says.

“What?”

“She preserved school credibility because it’d help younger students. If she did just try to screw us over, then she’s doomed a generation of Tributes from 2 after her.”

His voice catches, oddly raw. Donna shoots him a glance.

At that moment, a parachute comes down with a silver cup. Harvey unscrews the lid–

“Isn’t milk icky with mint tea?” Mike says, half-teasing.

Harvey sips and scowls. “And I have to put up with it for you. Also dammit, I guess the Academy has to redo the entire beverage system for next year.”

His eyes sparkle, though. That milky mint tea confirms Mike stayed loyal to their alliance.


	12. Chapter 12

They don’t discuss the night’s events further, leaving the dissection instead to the commentators. Harvey tends to Mike’s shoulder. Donna measures out another round of antibacterial pills. They arrange watches so one of the 1s will always be awake, because they can’t trust Mike too openly, certainly not before the water’s gone tomorrow. But as Mike burrows down in the Cornucopia, Kyle’s old night-vision goggles now placed snugly around his head, he feels safe.

Harvey prowls outside, watching over him and Donna both.

* * *

“Wake up, sunshine.” 

Mike jolts awake at the sound of Donna’s voice.

“I didn’t actually mean you, I meant that log over there.”

Mike twists around and sees Harvey sprawled under his own sleeping bag. And while yes he does look about as listless as a log, utterly exhausted, he’s also disarmingly open. His ungelled hair curls around his face.

“Don’t touch him,” warns Donna.

“How’d you know–”

Her expression softens. “Because I know everything. And I stopped you because I know that’d probably end with you getting a black eye that he’d retroactively feel very bad about giving. Watch this. Specter, Scottie’s trying to steal your vinyls again.”

Harvey startles awake and immediately glares at Donna. 

Mike snorts, more amused than he’d like to be. “You still keep vinyl records in 1?”

“Just him,” she says, fondly shaking her head.

“To be fair, the sound’s higher quality,” Mike says. “Least that’s what we tell ourselves at home.”

“It’s true.” Harvey rubs the sleep from his eyes and slowly begins to stretch, rolling his neck and shoulders. “Anyway half the music I like hasn’t been digitized.”

“Whoa, really? I didn’t know anyone still  _ had _ vinyls outside 12--”

Mike intends to keep questioning him on what, from 1’s perspective, must be his old-man music taste, but Harvey gets out of bed, poker face slamming back into place. The game’s not over yet.

“I took care of the lake,” Donna calls as the other two step outside.

And indeed Mike sees a headless fawn carcass dumped by the banks. He chokes on a laugh.

“What?” she asks.

“I started to feel sad because I don’t like seeing dead baby animals, and then I remembered I’m in the Hunger Games.”

Donna chuckles. On his emergence from the Cornucopia, Harvey also rolls his eyes.

“Well,” Donna says, “I’ve packed most of the gear, all of the water, and a decent chunk of the food. I think we should destroy the rest before we set out.”

“So we’re definitely not coming back here?” Harvey asks.

“You’re not going to want to,” Mike says, “once you realize those mines–” he jerks his head towards the starting platforms– “never actually got removed.”

Their jaws drop.

“We can’t get rid of all of them,” Mike continues, “but we’ll have to dig some up for the destroy-the-river plan.”

“You planning to blow up the river?” Donna asks skeptically.

“Yes.”

“How?”

Mike purses his lips. “I’d like to remind you and everyone watching at home that you’re bound by verbal contract to ally with me even after I take out the river.”

He trusts them with the information, but he doesn’t want to seem too trusting on camera. He’s acting as paranoid as he ought to be.

“Reminder taken,” Harvey replies too smoothly, as if he might actually need it.

* * *

“So I’m only muscle to you? I see how it is.”

“Even if you whine,” Donna teases, “I won’t do your shoveling for you.”

“Even though you’d be quicker?” Mike adds quietly.

Donna winks at him, and Harvey outright laughs before beginning to dig by the platform where he had stood at the Games’ start, right where Mike showed him.

“Assuming the designs are even remotely like last year’s, you don’t have to be careful for about three feet,” Mike says. “After that, I’ll take over.”

And so Harvey digs. Donna stands a bit of the way off, waiting until a parachute comes down with two more shovels, which she and Mike take. Then they all dig together.

“Three feet in!” Harvey calls.

Mike walks over and feels around in the soil until his hands close around a white bulb. 

“There!” he exclaims. “You should go stand further off, in case I cut the wires wrong.”

Harvey’s jaw tightens. “Don’t screw this up.”

Mike hears something underneath the brusque tone, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Once Harvey’s moved a safe distance away, Mike reaches into the hole with a knife. He’s seen this wiring before. There was a blueprint for it in an obscure power grid manual from 5, showing how 12’s coal actually got used post-mining.

“Dear Gamemakers, if you actively set this off now,” he mutters, “you’ll be missing out on a ton of awesome drama.”

He hopes the plea won’t outright hurt.

First, he cuts the thick red wire leading to the bulb. Then the white. He simply unclips the green and blue.

The bulb comes off.

“Here,” he calls, “one capsule filled with volatile chemicals that  _ will _ blow if exposed to water.”

He hands it to Harvey, who smirks. “Most people give flowers.”

“When have we ever been most people?”

“Hey,” Donna calls, “I’m three feet in too.”

Mike starts to go over, but not before commenting, “I guess we’re mining for mines.”

“That’s it, I’m wringing your neck.”

Mike marvels that he can hear that sentence from a Career in the middle of a Hunger Games and simply chuckle.

* * *

They gather up javelins, store ten or so mines in a waterproof briefcase that once held delicate medicine vials, move the medicines into a padded backpack, and then pile up the remaining supplies in a few heaps. They attach one mine near the center of each and step back. Then Harvey hands Mike a quiver filled with barbed, iron-tipped arrows. 

“A present from our generous sponsors, back on Day 2,” he says. “It’s yours.”

“You’re really giving me this?”

“Is there another weapon you’d prefer?”

“No?”

“Then it’s yours. You can do the honors.”

Harvey gestures at the piles, and Mike raises his bow.

There’s a thrill to showing off– for Donna, for Pearson Academy, for Harvey. He knows that’s what Harvey’s doing here, showing him off to prove he belongs in this alliance, and he knows it’s a challenge he can meet. One arrow per pile, he hits his target every time.

The supplies go up in smoke, and he probably just doomed someone outside their alliance. He aims not to think about that.

Harvey smirks. “Not bad for a rookie.”

* * *

As they head out to the edge of the arena, they stay quiet but not silent, making enough noise to scare off natural– or not so natural– predators. Jessica will try to warn them about threats, but none of them can trust that. Not when the cameras can tilt the odds against them.

They make it to the river without incident. Mike scrutinizes the water’s serene flow, glimmering and reflective. They creep along the bank until he identifies their target-- a gleaming metal pipe hidden amidst silver waters.

“There,” he says. “That’s how the trees get their gasoline.”

Harvey grins. “I’ll take this, unless there’s an objection?”

Donna shakes her head. “You’re the best at brute strength.”

Harvey snorts but doesn’t deny it. All of them move backwards, putting distance between themselves as the pipe while Harvey knots twine around one of his javelins. Donna extracts one capsule from the briefcase, dries one of her knives on her shirt for good measure and carves a tiny hole in it. Harvey takes it from her and ties it to his weapon, careful not to spill any of the bulb’s contents. Then he twists around, takes aim, and throws.

The river explodes into flames.

They sprint away to the next pipe, taking them out one after another. Parachutes refresh their supply of javelins and twine, and the flames cast a warm glow on Harvey’s sweaty, glorious smile. The whole arena smokes, ringed by water on fire.

When they circle back to their starting point the fire has burned itself out; the Gamekeepers must have staunched the bleeding by cutting off the gas supply from outside the arena. But smoke still lingers close to the surface, and residual ash ripples and dissolves throughout the water, contaminating it all just as Mike predicted, darkening clear waves to sparkling black.

* * *

“It’s official,” Mike says. “I can’t survive for any length of time without you two, not since I’m still recovering from the fever. I’ll drop dead of dehydration.”

He’s stating it aloud for the folks at home– the reason why his dynamic with Harvey and Donna has settled into something familiar and fun to watch, perhaps even genuinely enjoyable. They already trusted one another anyway, to the extent that anyone can trust someone they might have to kill, but now they can show it. They’ve put one layer of fraud to rest.

Donna and Harvey have a strange dynamic. Their conversations go half-unspoken, a tangle of smirks and raised eyebrows and cut-off laughs. Mike catches a few signals, though. He recognizes snatches of sign language, and oblique references to old Hunger Games, and perhaps a few Pearson Academy in-jokes. Harvey looks at her with obvious fondness– not attraction, but an equally intense brotherly equivalent.

And Mike starts to believe what he’s read in articles and interviews– Donna and Harvey are uniquely competent, one of the most frightening teams to ever compete in the Games– but not only for the reasons the observers say. It’s not only the training, or their obvious strength, or their formidable intelligence that protects them.

Harvey takes the first shift, and Donna tucks herself into a sleeping bag beside Mike. Before he quite nods off, she pokes him. 

“Don’t hurt him.” Before Mike can quite reply, she chuckles and adds, “Trust me. I know everything, right?”


	13. Chapter 13

Coffee arrives in the morning, floating down by Donna. Taking a sip, she narrows her eyes. “Caramel macchiato.”

“What does that mean?” Mike asks.

“We have to go on the offensive,” she replies, “but Jessica can’t tell who’s most vulnerable right now.”

“It’s no fun if Pearson Academy wins all its Games,” Harvey murmurs.

Mike shivers as the implication hits him. Of course, the Capitol can’t have too many Pearson winners in a row, not when it’d ruin the suspense. The cameramen must be censoring the feeds solely to screw Jessica over.

They sit in silence for a moment, until Donna finally remarks, “Travis is the most worrying, in my opinion. He has sponsors, which means he has water. We should take him down, wait for the others to die off naturally.”

Harvey turns his face up to the sky and asks, “Jessica, rough direction?”

An apricot soon parachutes down on his left, and so they move to Harvey’s left. He walks in front, Mike stays safe in the center, and Donna watches their backs. 

The forest falls eerily quiet around them, without a single breath of wind. For hours they trek through the woods without finding any trace of human activity. Dust flies up and cakes their clothes. They leave no tracks in the dry dirt. Neither would anything else.

They run across a snare made of vines, then another. They evade them both– Donna disassembles them with two swipes of her knife and says, “I think we’re being hunted.”

“Not particularly skillfully,” Harvey snorts.

“You’re one to talk.”

Travis Tanner hurtles out from nowhere. He slams Mike first, pinning him to a tree and knocking the breath out of him. Then he grins and raises a knife, painted with a gleaming red poison that no doubt cost his sponsor a pretty penny, and drives it toward Mike’s throat–

Harvey rips him off, hurling him away from Mike. He totters backwards, waving the knife, blue eyes wild like a spooked animal’s, even as Harvey straightens up and aims. He smoothly transfixes him with a spear. In the heartbeat before Travis falls, his gaze clears, and he throws his blade.

He and and his target crumple in the same instant.

“Donna?”

The cry is strangled, barely intelligible over the single beat of the cannon. Harvey stumbles towards her, dropping to his knees and putting his hands on her cheeks, her forehead, her hair. Mike starts to speak, to inform him that the cannon was for her, but he’s a Career, trained for the Hunger Games since childhood. He knows.

Suddenly he springs back up and stalks over to Travis, who lies on the ground, still taking slow, rattling breaths. He yanks the spear from his chest, only to ram it back into his lungs, then his heart. Even when the cannon sounds a second time Harvey keeps on fighting, opening bloody holes in his face and torso and limbs–

“Harvey. Harvey!”

Harvey stills suddenly, spear raised for another attack, then lowers his arm and straightens up.

“I lost control,” he says in a strange monotone. He spins around, and Mike sees his eyes are dry yet unfocused, jaw pulsing with tension.

“Won’t happen again,” he says.

“Harvey–”

“We have to clear out her pack and clothes,” Harvey interrupts, staring straight in front of him, pushing past Mike towards Donna’s corpse. He bends down and jams his hands into her pockets, perhaps trying to hide the fact that they’re shaking. “Water canteen, that’s useful. Found three knives, and she has– she had at least four others on her, for sure.” He pulls out a string of cloth flowers, and– “Oh, right, she kept this for you.”

He fishes out a ring– Grammy’s ring, the token Jenny gave to Trevor after the Reaping– and throws it on the ground in front of Mike’s feet, still not turning to face him.

“For me?”

“Yeah,” Harvey mutters, “she wanted to give it to you once she was more certain you wouldn’t have a breakdown upon seeing it.” He catches the slip a moment later. “She suspected even then you’d end up with us, because she knew everything.”

“That–” Mike’s voice breaks– “was potentially manipulative on her part, but mainly incredibly thoughtful.”

“That was Donna.”

They stay a moment, Mike bent down to examine the ring, Harvey kneeling by Donna, smoothing out her hair. Mike can see the curve in his backbone tensing, fists clenching, whole body quivering as the grief hits him once again.

“It was just supposed to be a back-up plan,” he breathes.

“Harvey.”

He calls him more forcefully this time, and Harvey shoots to his feet and whips around, eyes blazing. But Mike stands his ground. “I propose a 1-12 alliance, typical conditions, ending once every Tribute in these games from districts 2 through 11 is dead, with one special condition.”

“You–” Harvey’s voice is low, hoarse– “you’re going to use this to  _ negotiate _ ?”

“The condition is that you take a few minutes– ten at most– to say good-bye to her.”

“Why?”

"Because I didn’t go to my parents’ funeral, and I regret it every day.”

Harvey staggers back a step, blinking too fast. “I can’t–”

“Then because I’m afraid I’ll be in Travis’ position next time, and taking a moment to find some semblance of closure might make you less of a time bomb.”

“. . . Alliance accepted.”

“Don’t you need Jessica’s approval–”

“Alliance accepted!” He roars the words. Birds chirp in alarm, skittering away into flight. Harvey whirls back and falls to the ground, still clasping the string of flowers. “What do you want me to do, hm?”

Mike blanks for a moment before answering. “In 12, we sing the person’s favorite song– that’s what I did for Trevor, albeit after leaving the body– or we recite their favorite poem.”

“I– I don’t have her favorite poem memorized,” Harvey protests. “I don’t know if she had one.” A minute later he lets out a long sigh. “There was a speech from an ancient play. We sneaked into a library archive, she kept repeating it for weeks.”

“What was it about?”

“Flowers? She brought this along because it reminded her of it.” He holds up her token– a cloth circlet that looks like a blossoming rosemary sprig, Mike realizes.

“‘Rosemary, for remembrance?’” he asks quietly.

Harvey twists to look at him, eyes wide. “You know it.”

Mike nods, then steps forward and sits down by Harvey. As Harvey takes Donna’s hands, he murmurs, “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. There’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me. We may call it “herb of grace” o’ Sundays. Oh, you must wear your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but–”

“But they withered all when my father died,” Harvey finishes, voice barely audible.

They spend a few minutes in silence, Mike just looking between Donna and the ring in his hand, pretending not to notice the tears tracking down Harvey’s face. Then Harvey leans down and whispers whispers, “Thank you for twelve years.”

He lays a kiss on her forehead.

They get up and start walking again, away from Travis and Donna both. Soon, a parachute lands squarely in their path, and Harvey’s expression darkens.

“I swear, Jessica,” he growls as he goes to unscrew the silver cap, “if you’re going to give me a lect–”

He stops mid-word.

“What is it?”

“It’s a can opener.”

Mike frowns. “Are there any canned supplies in these Games?”

“None at all,” Harvey says, shaking his head and tucking the can opener into his pack. A bizarre half-smile plays on his lips.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [the anthem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0keMZoj2Zak) of this chapter! It scares me how well the lyrics match up . . .

By unspoken agreement, they put off hunting any more Tributes. Instead they wander until sundown in near-silence, with Mike only occasionally stopping to add to his herb collection. They eat some of the packaged food from the Cornucopia and drink from the bottles Jessica sends down– one for each of them. Then, though it’s still early in the evening, Mike gets up to stand guard as Harvey passes out. He sleeps through the memorial.

While he keeps watch, listening to a mockingjay trill in the distance, Mike sneaks glances at Harvey.

His attention drifts to the wrinkles that line Harvey’s whole face. Before they gave him a mature, distinguished look. Now he simply looks exhausted, and Mike wars once again with the urge to touch him. He wants to check if he’s real, to smooth out the frown newly embedded in his forehead.

A parachute catches his eye, floating down on Harvey’s side. 

“Harvey,” Mike mutters. Harvey simply stirs, and Mike reaches over him to take the parachute and unscrew the attached jar. He finds tea. As soon as the warm liquid meets his lips, his skin goes cold.

“Orange tea. Chemical weapons incoming!”

Harvey leaps to his feet. “Direction?”

Mike points. They sprint the opposite way, grabbing their weapons and abandoning the rest. Mike glances back to find a wall of green fog advancing, tendrils speeding towards them, closing in on them from behind and now on either side. The mockingjay has fallen silent.

“Dammit,” Harvey spits, and Mike turns to find a wall of white mist hanging in front of them. “Girl from 6 went crazy there.”

“24,” Mike says reflexively. “Physical,” he says, pointing at the green. “Mental.” He points in front.

Harvey’s eyes widen as he recognizes the reference, though obscure– in the 24th Games Tributes were caught between two similar hazes, one which burned their skin, one which simply drove them mad, and had to choose.

“Mental,” Harvey replies abruptly. “Don’t breathe.”

And even as the green closes in they take massive breaths of the dwindling still-pure air and dash forward into the white. It feels cool against their skin, but not outright harmful. Yet their lungs burn from the exertion, and both of them swallow a few breaths down before at last emerging into clarity once more. They pant in silence for a few moments before Harvey straightens up and observes, “Hey, this arena is really gorgeous.”

Mike looks around and finds that it  _ is _ – he’s been cataloging species of plants from Day 1, but he’s never really taken the time to look at the colors of the leaves before, or the lush green of the grass. It feels as if he’s zooming in on details like he’s watching through a camera, one of the really high-quality ones they only use for the Hunger Games or other preeminent Capitol functions.

An eternity-- seconds-- later, they turn to look at each other and give a simultaneous diagnosis: “Eufrosyne.“

Mike can’t stop it, his newfound zoom function turns on  _ Harvey _ . Harvey, who must have been born for the cameras with his gold skin, with his sharp bones and dyed blond hair. Under the moonlight Mike notices the small moles dotting his brow for the first time. He wonders how many arguments exploded at Pearson Academy, debating whether he should have those blemishes removed surgically. Mike’s disproportionately grateful that he didn’t. 

“Should wear off in twenty minutes or so,” Harvey continues. “Let’s just avoid dying until then. I’m not going to react with a panic attack like the girl from 6, and I assume you won’t either.”

“Sounds good . . . Wait a minute,” Mike says with a skeptical glare, “how do you know how Eufrosyne highs affect you?”

“. . . Training.”

“See, now I just have images of Jessica handing out joints and, I don’t know, instructing you on proper breathing technique.”

At that, Harvey just throws his head back and laughs before stumbling back and catching himself. “Oh, gotta be quiet in the Hunger Games. Speaking of which–”

“I’m hungry.”

“So am I!” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a packet of pretzels from the Cornucopia, looking inordinately pleased with himself. He rips it open, peers inside, and frowns. “It’s all crushed to bits.”

He then turns it upside down and shakes a stream of crumbs into his mouth. “Want some?”

Mike rushes over, bends his knees, and tilts his head back, mouth open. Harvey tips crushed pretzels into his mouth, chuckling.

“Mmph,” Mike says, attempting and failing to swallow the dry crumbs. Harvey rolls his eyes but takes mercy on him, reaching toward his belt and pulling off his water bottle, still unfinished from yesterday. 

Mike takes it and drinks. Then he raises his eyebrows at Harvey, who is now outright giggling. “What?”

“You’re a puppy.”

The sheer absurdity of this observation sends Mike into his own fit of giggles. “Evidence, please?”

“First and foremost, you have the big, earnest eyes, people who stare at them too long are at risk of–” he waves his hand vaguely– “melting. Then there’s the way you just bent down for me to feed you, I swear I could see a tail wagging. Plus, and most importantly, you can do tricks!”

Mike considers for a moment, then breaks into a smile. “I can. I can do tricks!”

“Of course you can.”

“I can list off one-hundred neurotoxins and their formulae on command!”

“Good boy,” Harvey says, grinning fondly. He reaches over and ruffles Mike’s hair.

“If I’m a puppy,” Mike muses, “then you’re …”

“What am I?”

Mike scrunches his forehead and scrutinizes. Harvey is  _ beautiful _ , just as beautiful as he was seconds before, but even better now. How can he be better? With a moment’s contemplation Mike grasps the answer. It’s the whole-hearted smile that makes him look ten years younger than usual, like he is actually only eighteen years old.

“You’re a statue made of gold,” Mike breathes.

Harvey stares at him. “Evidence?”

“Look in the mirror.”

Harvey breaks into chuckles once again. When they finally subside, he tells Mike, “You make a persuasive case.”

He’s still staring, and Mike can’t bring himself to look away.

A shadow crosses Harvey’s face. “I missed Donna’s memorial, didn’t I?”

“I– should I have woken you?”

“I don’t know.”

They stand in silence for some time. Mike wonders if he’s imagining the mockingjay that’s singing in the background.

“Hey,” Mike says in a near-whisper, “I grew up in a house surrounded by family, but I know what it’s like to feel totally alone.”

“I don’t feel alone,” Harvey replies, voice low.

“No?”

“I have a can opener, and I have a puppy. Way I see it, I’m damn near invincible.”

He’s joking, mouth twisted in a broken smirk, but Mike thinks he sees something softer in his eyes. Something more than the grief or the rage or the high. 

All he knows is he is pulled towards this man, hands tingling where they meet Harvey’s, lips tingling where they brush against his before pressing harder, and now Harvey’s drinking him in like a man dying of thirst who’s stumbled on a river, and now, now the whole damn river bursts into flame–

A cannon goes off.

Springing backwards, Harvey curses quietly. Mike is silent, looking in every direction but Harvey’s, heart throbbing too hard in his chest.

“We’ll sober up in a couple of minutes,” Harvey finally says. “Let’s start finding a new place to camp.”


	15. Chapter 15

A potful of berries alerts them that 10’s male tribute died in the night, succumbing to a mixture of fever, starvation and dehydration. Even as Harvey watches over him, Mike can’t shake the guilt that haunts him through his sleep.

“Mike. Mike.”

Mike wakes to Harvey calling his name, crouching by his feet while opening a newly-arrived coffee. He takes a sip, then grimaces.

“If you don’t like it, can I have it?”

“You can try it, sure.” He hands the cup over to Mike, who takes a mouthful and instinctively spits it out.

“Ugh, why is she trying to poison you?“

“No comment.”

“What _is_ it?”

“It’s a little something called a triple-shot espresso.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means we should carry on as we were yesterday afternoon.” He pauses and looks away from Mike before muttering, “Don’t outright go after people, wait for them to drop off, and so on.”

But Mike hears the real message– carrying on like yesterday afternoon means ignoring last night. 

He can’t blame Jessica. She probably thinks Harvey’s compromising himself, that Harvey’s let her down by daring to care for an opponent. Perhaps she thinks feelings are foolish in any circumstance. She’s not wrong. Feelings are foolish when you’re dealing with the Hunger Games, especially now that only two other contestants are alive, and the chances that it’ll come down just to the two of them are uncomfortably high.

Mike’s throat seizes up as the statistics and plans all desert him, as he’s left without answers, just choking on questions. What the hell are the two of them doing? 

What’s the best he can hope for? That Harvey will spontaneously drop dead, and he’ll somehow survive without Pearson Academy’s water until everyone else dies too? That these Games will come down to a showdown that favors Mike, a contest of memory? That Harvey will break the alliance, justifying his bloody murder?

As he contemplates, he forces down the breakfast Harvey passes him– all non-poisonous berries that he collected from the nearby area– drinks the water that Harvey’s sponsors send for him, walks along the path Harvey leads him down. Throughout it all, Harvey stays quiet, professional, quick to look away when Mike meets his eyes. He’s not awkward– Mike can’t imagine Harvey Specter being awkward– but Mike feels that a wall’s gone up between them. And yet.

Harvey’s as considerate in his deeds as an ally can be. He gives Mike the plumpest of the berries. He forges ahead of him to clear away thickets. He even hands him two of the knives he had taken from Donna. Mike doesn’t comment on it, on any of this. He just takes the blades with a nod. Harvey holds his gaze for a full second, eyes full of something neither of them can possibly name, and then breaks away. 

Mike closes his eyes, tries to imagine aiming, pulling back the bowstring and letting an arrow fly, hitting Harvey square between the eyes. His imagination fails him.

They wander. His mind wanders down cut-off paths and doomed fantasies until he’s cut off by a cluster of poisonous woodruff berries, crushed against the bark of a tree. The stains are fresh. Without even thinking he warns, “Harvey, Eric’s nearby.”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he hears the whistling of Harvey’s spear, then the thunk and the boom of the cannon as he eliminates yet another target. Mike watches open-mouthed as Eric Woodall- 7’s tiny male tribute- tumbles off a tree branch. Now rendered even bonier by acute starvation in the Games, he crashes from the canopy to the ground, impaled on the metal.

“Wow. Harvey. I know you’re good, but how’d you spot him so quick–” The words die in Mike’s throat as he turns to see Harvey doubled over and breathing hard, grasping a knife and cutting away the cloth of his pants from where one of Eric’s trademark darts pierced his shin.

“One puncture wound, severe stinging pain, growing black stain,” he reels off, making an audible effort to keep his voice steady as he lists off the effects in a clinical tone. Yet Mike’s jaw drops as the symptoms play out before him, a web of inky purple-black spreading out across Harvey’s golden skin.

“That– that’s from concentrated woodruff juice,” Mike says, forcing the words out, realizing with panic that he’s about to lose Harvey roughly the way he lost Trevor, then recognizing with more panic that he’s panicking over Harvey. “Diffusa bark would work as an antidote, but I left my stash behind last night. Will Jessica rush some in?”

Harvey looks up at him, eyes red and glossy, and Mike can see him hesitate to answer.

“I’ll go find some,” he immediately says, turning on his heel and starting to run to the nearest Diffusa tree. “But if I don’t come back in time–”

“I know.”

He knows the only possibly effective brute-force solution is to physically remove the affected area. Of course he knows.

Mike runs. He knows full well that he can keep running. He can abandon Harvey, wait for him and the remaining Tribute to die off, because now he’s got four functioning limbs and a full stomach and a water bottle. Now the odds dictate that he’s in the best health of them all.

He runs single-mindedly, towards the nearest known patch of Diffusa trees. Once he gets there he takes one of Donna’s knives and starts shaving off bark desperately, gathering as much as possible into his hands, stuffing it into the folds of his clothing. He sprints back, only to find a wall of green fog blocking the way– the same green fog from last night. It simply hangs in the air, cutting him off from–

“Harvey!”

There is no response. But the cannon hasn’t sounded, and Mike reasons– hopes madly– that he might simply be out of hearing range. Then he stops and stares open-mouthed at the fog with even more questions, because really, what is the Capitol doing? Why are they re-using the same gimmick on the same Tributes, twice within twelve hours? 

The Gamemakers are many things, but rarely uncreative.

He looks up to see whether they’ve left another option open to him, whether he can simply climb a tree and transcend the haze. He can’t; the mist has unfurled into the canopy. He scans the area for new options and only finds his old options are disappearing. The green fog creeps around him on three sides, pushing him undoubtedly towards the Cornucopia.

And he obeys, stumbling over branches in his haste to outrun the vapor, even while his thoughts race to puzzle out the Capitol’s motives. If they’re pushing one Tribute into the center of the arena, they’re likely pushing all three, attempting to force a decisive confrontation. Normally, Mike suspects they’d stage a Feast for this purpose, but perhaps that option’s grown impractical in a world where Pearson Academy can pay for most anything their tributes need. But why force the finale, when the Games have lasted barely a week? What’s going on outside the arena? What could possibly warrant this quick ending?

Mike arrives at the edge of the clearing before he can land on any plausible answers. He peeks out from behind a tree and sees Anita, the girl from 10, locked in combat with Harvey.

They’re ruined, the both of them– Anita’s movements have slowed considerably from the Training Center, clothes and breathing both ragged. Yet Harvey doesn’t fare much better. His leg is drenched in blood from where he must have sawed off his poisoned skin, with a makeshift tourniquet tied near the knee. He swings it about as if it’s dead weight, dragging him down.

Yet even as they gasp and stumble, they hack at each other with their weapons– Harvey with a spear in one hand and one of Donna’s knives in the other, Anita with a butcher’s knife, one of the main tools of District 10’s trade. Harvey lands a solid blow to Anita’s right elbow, yet she simply throws her knife to the left hand and carries on fighting, darting out of Harvey’s range whenever he tries to land another.

Mike raises his bow, squinting, unable to get a clean shot at either as they whirl about.

Harvey goes to stab her in the ribs but overreaches, and she takes advantage to outright punch his chest with her right fist, grimacing at the pain in her arm. The force of the blow destroys his already faltering sense of balance, and he crashes down to the ground, his mangled leg now warped further, twisted underneath his body. He drops the spear and scrambles up to a sitting position, raising the knife, but he can do nothing to stop her as she towers over him and drives her own blade down towards his heart–

 _Twang_!

She staggers back as Mike’s arrow pierces her in the left shoulder, and Harvey drives his own knife deep into her belly. She collapses to the ground. The cannon fires.

Harvey falls backwards, exhausted, barely propping himself up by his elbows. Mike cannot see his face, cannot see that beautiful golden face, and he tries to erase the picture-perfect images of it supplied by his wicked memory as he reaches for another arrow from his quiver and strings his bow.

“Mike.”

Mike blinks hard, swallowing back traitorous tears as he aims squarely at Harvey’s– Specter’s head.

“Mike, don’t shoot me. Please.”

There is a strange quiver in his voice, and the sheer wrongness of Harvey Specter saying “please” to anyone gives Mike pause for a moment, despite the fact that he suspects this Career still has at least three ways to kill him.

“Remember the terms of the contract.”

“What?” Mike breathes in sheer confusion, too quiet for Harvey to actually hear him. 

The contract? What contract? The contract Mike negotiated through Jessica was voided by Donna’s death. The alliance they formed after that ended as soon as Anita died. That left the pineapple deal, with its three conditions for termination. It would end if Harvey died, which he hasn’t just yet. It would end if Mike revealed the deal to the public, which he’s successfully avoided doing as far as he can tell. Mike assumes the deal is gone though, because the third condition has been met. It must have been met. Mike was sure he knew what Harvey meant by it: “We promise not to kill each other unless Donna, you, and I are the only Tributes in these Games still alive.”

Mike was sure Harvey meant “unless some combination of Donna, you, and I are the only Tributes in these Games still alive.” It wouldn’t make sense for Harvey to mean anything else, even though he had left the wording ambiguous. It wouldn’t make sense for Harvey to mean what the contract literally said– that the deal is still perfectly intact because Donna is no longer living.

At just that moment, Harvey calls, “Interpret it literally.”

A chill runs along Mike’s skin. “What the hell, Harvey? Do you want me to just, what, wait until you die off on your own?”

Harvey twists around to look at Mike, one eyebrow raised. “What makes you so sure I’ll die first?” He tries to snort, but it turns into a pained moan. “Don’t answer that.”

“What happens now?”

“What happens now is that I will reach into my shirt pocket for two things which I swear are not weapons– well, they’re not knives or anything else listed on the official Games weapons list– and you will not get an itchy trigger finger and shoot me in the process.”

Mike lowers his bow, though the arrow is still strung, and Harvey gives a slight nod before taking two items from his pocket– a branch sharpened like an awl, and a white paper card which Mike sees is already covered with a line scrawled in blue or black ink, with a white space left at the bottom.

“I will now proceed to bend forwards. I am still not retrieving any weapons, and you will still not shoot me or kill me in any way.”

“Harvey–”

“Yes?” Harvey says as he leans forward, awl in his hand, towards his bloodied leg.

“Are you about to commit suicide?”

He answers in a conversational tone: “Not literally.”

Then he straightens back up, and Mike sees that the awl is now tipped with blood, like some macabre red pen. He lowers it like a pen to the paper and writes something in the clear space.

“There.” Harvey flings the card across the clearing in Mike’s direction. “Take a look. It’s not poisoned, but I won’t blame you if you don’t actually touch it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Mike darts forward into the clearing towards where the card has fallen and kneels down to read it. He sees immediately that it is District 1 stamp paper, used for writing up legal contracts. Mike reviews the list of possible sponsor gifts– no, nobody could send this to Harvey from outside, so he must have brought it in as his token. Then he reads the wording, and his breath catches.

“I hereby officially renounce my District 1 citizenship. Signed by Harvey Specter”

The name is written in blood.

“My father was Gordon Specter, lifelong citizen of District 12, temporary resident of District 1 by marriage.”

“How–”

“He met my mother on a national tour of musicians– she was one of the lead singers, and also an enthusiastic fan of his. And according to Section 4444 of the legal code–”

“–’A person who is a citizen of a District whether by birth or naturalization and is a child of a parent of another District of a higher number, for which purpose the Capitol shall be treated as “District 0,” shall by voluntarily signing an affirmation or other formal declaration of renunciation lose his citizenship, and he shall automatically become a citizen of the same District as that parent.’”

Harvey smiles as Mike recites the statute from memory and simply says, “Yep.”

Mike straightens up, waving the card. “Hey, where are the trumpets? We just won the Hunger Games! Sure, we won it on a legal technicality, but it’s a victory nevertheless!”

After a few more seconds, the trumpets blare, and the hovercrafts appear over them to heal their wounds and take them back to the Capitol for the victory celebration. Beaming, Mike glances over at Harvey and finds him blinking back tears.


	16. Chapter 16

Mike awakes from the sedative alone. He’s back in the penthouse, in the same bed where he had slept before the Games. He’s strapped to an IV, needles strapped into his arm and drawing nutrients and medicine from packs strapped by his shoulder, a marvel of modern medicine. Normally, Tributes are kept in medical facilities for much longer, but these Games ended quickly, before his health deteriorated too far from injuries or exposure. 

Groggily, he pushes himself out of bed and heads into the main quarters. A light knock flutters against the door.

“Good, good, you’re up!” Effie Trinket opens the door and struts forward, all smiles. She throws her arms around him, in an awkward one-sided hug. “My dear Victor, you are truly a miracle.”

“Thanks,” he says before disentangling himself and looking around the otherwise empty room.

“You must be looking for Specter, right? He’s staying here, in Trevor’s old room, but he woke up earlier and was immediately called out, so you can relax all on your own–”

“What? Where was he called out to?”

“I really couldn’t say, Mike, all I know is two Praetorians came by to pick him up. I assume they know well enough to return him in time to prepare for your joint interview tonight with Caesar. Speaking of which, I called Caesar up and had him send over the highlights of this Games’ footage, since I thought you might enjoy watching the show as a spectator–”

“What? No.” He shakes his head, chuckling grimly. “No, I think I’ll skip this year’s. Already memorized the key points.”

“Oh, I suppose so.” Though disappointed, she quickly rallies. “Well, then, you might at least enjoy some of the interview clips. Your sister’s really such a dear.”

For a moment, Mike can’t find his voice, but he eventually murmurs, “I’d like to see hers, yeah.”

And so he finds himself sinking down onto a plush couch as Effie drapes blankets around him– “You were always so skinny, and we mustn’t let you get cold”– and calls up Jenny’s interview on the television.

Tears well up when he sees Jenny’s face– her sunny blonde hair, the button nose just like their mother’s. She’s sitting in their living room, background kept out of focus to blur the mildew and cracks in the wall. She’s wearing in the nice black dress she wore at Grammy’s funeral. They taped this the first morning that only one-third of the Tributes were remaining, hours after Trevor died and Mike allied with his killer.

“How are you feeling at this point in the Games?”

Pressing her lips together, Jenny replies simply. “Trevor was supposed to come home.”

“Of course, that’s a terrible tragedy. What do you think about the exact manner of his death?”

“Mike and the commentators all say that he couldn’t have been saved, once the mutt got him.”

The words sound smooth, natural, but Mike knows his sister better than that. She is holding back tears and choosing her words carefully, refusing to say more than she has to, making this Capitol interviewer pry every sentence out of her.

“But how do you feel towards Trevor’s killer, Specter? A death by poison’s hardly enjoyable, but death by stabbing is horrific in its own way.”

Mike can see the flash of anger as she hears Harvey’s name, but she composes herself once again. “I’m sure Specter did what he thought was best.”

“It must have been difficult to see Mike ally with Specter and Donna so soon after.”

“It must have been.”

The interviewer pauses for a few moments, trying to find an effective line of questioning. “And– and how do you hope that alliance will turn out?”

“I hope Mike will win, even though he’ll have to come back alone. He’s even more brilliant than he says, and I have no doubt that he can deliver on his promises.”

“So you believe he’s a match for the Careers?”

“As raw intelligence goes, he’s smarter than any of them. He knows the Games well in his own way.”

“But surely you have some reservations.”

Jenny starts to deny it, then relents. “I do, I’d have to be a fool not to. He’s not from their world, he can’t possibly fit in. They scheme for years, and they kill without a second thought, and they don’t care about anyone really, and they’re incapable of saying what they mean. And Mike? He’s the most genuine, kind, caring person I know.”

“Do you trust them?”

“I trust Pearson Academy to hold to their alliance, if only to protect their own name,” she spits with surprising force.

“Do you trust Specter specifically?”

Her face contorts. “Yes, because of the contract. But I can’t shake this feeling he’ll find a way to hurt Mike too, before this is all over.”

By the time the clip’s over Mike is sobbing and laughing both, because he regrets none of it. He can’t regret volunteering to save Jenny, to save the poised, well-spoken lady his little sister has grown into. He wants to reach through the screen and hug her and reminisce about Trevor, about broken bones and late nights around the fire and that one time Trevor brought her a dead goose and tried to convince her it was pheasant. He wants to reassure her that he’s fine, all things considered. He’s alive, and it’s in no small part  _ because _ of Specter.

The clip finishes, and the screen reverts to a menu, a list of all the Tributes and all the interviews pertaining to them. Mike scrolls up to District 1 and sees videos of Donna’s parents flash by before settling on Specter. The most recent upload is from last night, soon after their win. It features Jessica Pearson, one-on-one with Caesar Flickerman. Mike clicks.

“Welcome, welcome! We have a very special guest with us tonight. Please welcome Jessica Pearson, lead mentor for District 1’s Tributes and head of the extraordinary Pearson Academy!”

“Thank you, Caesar, I’m glad to be here.”

“So first of all, you must be surprised by how things ultimately turned out.”

“It’s not often that I admit to being surprised by anything,” she says, smiling, “but I will freely admit that this took me aback.”

“So Specter didn’t run his plan to switch his citizenship by you before going into the Games?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What would you have said if he did?”

“I would have asked if he was suffering from temporary insanity.”

Caesar grins widely, as always, while the audience gives an uneasy chuckle. “Certainly, this must have thrown off some of your plans. In fact, there are rumors that you were preparing Specter to join you as a co-leader of your school, and that you explicitly offered him the position as incentive to excel in the Games.”

She sighs. “The rumors are true, and since I recognize Pearson Academy can seem rather opaque from the outside I’d like to explain the facts behind them. Despite his relatively young age, Specter amassed a number of responsibilities within our school. He played an important role in courting sponsors and obtaining and managing resources, and on a good day he wasn’t a half-bad mentor for younger students. Throw in the fact that he’s quick-witted, well-spoken and physically capable, and he seemed like a reasonable choice for partner and, ultimately, successor.”

“I notice, Jessica, that you use the past tense. Of course it’d be impossible for him to lead the Academy from District 12, but have you now lost some of your prior confidence in Specter?”

Jessica glances at the camera before saying, “I neglected to mention a few of Specter’s other qualities. He’s ungrateful, stubborn, disobedient, self-important, and infuriatingly unpredictable. I thought that sort of energy might invigorate our Academy, but instead he used it to upend my plans and blindside the whole school with his legal stunt.”

“Those are rather harsh words for your star disciple.”

“Well, Caesar, why don’t we conduct a review of his performance? Before the Games, he apparently made an alliance on a whim with an unestablished kid from 12 whose only real credential was getting the lowest score in this year’s Trials. In flagrant defiance of I don’t know how many Academy by-laws he entirely neglected to mention this to me. He then proceeded to give up his shot at Mike and Trevor at the Cornucopia. Perhaps because he was distracted by having to honor his bizarre alliance, he then flubbed his shot at Travis, allowing him to live long enough to kill Donna.” Jessica pauses, and while she seems simply to be brushing back a wayward curl Mike suspects she’s pushing away tears, just like everyone else involved with the Games. But then she’s back to her speech, perfectly dry-eyed: “Of course he turned in a relatively impressive performance at the Cornucopia regardless, but I trained him, I’ve seen him do far better. In these Games, he failed to meet any of my expectations.”

Caesar nods, wearing a concerned frown. “If Specter were here right now, what would you want to say to him?”

She raises an eyebrow and turns to the camera. “Specter, you have cut yourself off from Pearson Academy and District 1, and you’ve made some real enemies. I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”

Mike stares at the screen, torn between urges to write her a scalding five-page rebuttal or cower in fear.

* * *

“You’ve made some real enemies. I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”

As Harvey watches his mentor excoriate him live before an audience, he keeps his face still and his heartbeat steady. There are cameras trained on him from every crevice of this, the Presidential Palace.

The TV snaps off, and Harvey turns to see the man holding the remote. He’s smaller than he looks on television, puffy-cheeked with short, gray curls and a slightly scruffy beard and mustache. He wears a suit– an embroidered double-breasted red jacket over a vest the color of dried blood. Harvey rises to face him and takes a largely neutral stance, but he tips his chin lower than usual. President Hardman responds with a genteel smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m always amused by Jessica’s talk of forgiving everything one does in the Hunger Games,” the president remarks. “But it seems there are limits to even her love and loyalty.”

“I doubt anyone has ever expected unconditional loyalty from Jessica Pearson,” Harvey replies, voice devoid of emotion.

“According to her, both your Academy and your district have turned their backs on you.”

“I know,” Harvey says, suddenly flaring with zeal. “I expected it. After all, I chose Mike and District 12 over them.”

“Ah, but see–” Hardman winces, red cheeks rounding further– “that’s a bit problematic in itself. Haven’t you ever wondered why I let two Victors come home? I could still say that only one Victor’s allowed– it served as a better punishment for the wayward districts.”

Harvey doesn’t answer.

“It’s because I want to really  _ pit _ the districts against each other. Tributes from any given district can only trust their companion. And Jessica and others can try all they want to lay down alliances, but, as Samantha’s betrayal showed, those are all built on quicksand.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Then perhaps you should have expected that your show of loyalty to Mike would have profound consequences. There are hopes of inter-district alliances for purposes far greater than the Games. There are whispers of rebellion, even. And they are just whispers at this point, but with you and Mike and your … relationship as a rallying point, as a symbol of unity, I worry they could become more.”

Harvey’s eyes flicker up to meet the president’s. Voice hard and low, he asks, “What do you want from me?”

“This inter-district love story can’t continue. Or rather, I think you don’t want it to continue. At this point I could threaten you, or the Academy, or Mike, but going after any of you would require extraneous work, since really …” He clicks another button on his remote, and Harvey sees a live feed appear on the television screen, showing a young blonde woman, dressed casually, washing dishes in a rundown kitchen. In an instant he recognizes her as Jenny Ross.

“Really,” Hardman continues, voice insistently upbeat, “she’s the perfect leverage. Nobody else really cares about her, but Mike– he went to the Hunger Games for his darling little sister.”

Harvey doesn’t react. He doesn’t move, turned to stone.

“Harvey, do you understand me?”

“I have to convince the masses that there’s nothing between me and Mike Ross.”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid that won’t be sufficient. You’ll have to convince  _ me _ .” His empty smile returns, and he adds, “And I don’t recommend conferring with your puppy on this one. I could have called him in here with you, but for all his bravado I think he’s an open book. But you? Well, Jessica Pearson’s been teaching you to lie through your teeth almost since you were born. I think you’ll find a solution.”

Harvey looks at Jenny as she rinses a bowl, wipes it dry, places it in a cupboard, her actions captured by Capitol cameras in perfect resolution. “I know I will.”

“I have faith in you.” The president moves to leave the room, but he stops midway. “Oh goodness, what was that bit of advice Jessica always likes to spout? ‘Don’t love anyone you wouldn’t be willing to see dead?’”

He exits with a smile, this one sincere.

* * *

Harvey doesn’t return to the Tribute apartments all day, and Mike turns off the television soon enough. After a quiet lunch, a doctor visits him to check that his recovery’s progress. He whiles another hour away reading and memorizing assorted Capitol magazines that Effie offers him– displays of garish wealth, all lacking in substance. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s being caged in and kept from information, even now.

Soon enough he’s ushered off to the beauticians and made over once again, because tonight is Caesar’s interview with the Victors. While the stylists scrub his hair and skin Mike reviews all the previous Victor interviews he’s seen. Caesar’s questions will tend towards emotional topics, no doubt. He’ll ask about the kiss, about the secret deal, about when and how Harvey decided to save them both.

Mike can’t wait to hear Harvey’s answers.

He meets his stylist, a green-haired woman whom he strongly suspects is intoxicated. “Where’s Rene?”

“He opted out of tonight’s work. Something about loyalty to Pearson Academy.”

Mike grimaces. “So what’s the plan?”

“No idea, I just got the call half-an-hour ago while enjoying my winnings from betting on the Games. You made me a lot of money, you know.”

“Um … You’re welcome?”

“Though to be honest I barely broke even after the whole Donna debacle. It’s a shame she died.”

“Yeah, it is.”

With a heavy sigh she mutters, “I lost a lot of money betting on her.”

She starts taking his measurements and bringing out garments for him to try on, and Mike realizes that he’s being put in a suit– to match Harvey, he supposes. He can’t believe that Harvey would wear anything specifically like this, though. The shirt is an indeterminate sort of gray with wishy-washy darker gray lines running down it and two buttons on the collar that serve no purpose, as far as Mike can tell. The tie is definitely too skinny. 

But Mike doesn’t care. He’s done with the Games. He’s done with caring about how he appears forevermore.

* * *

Harvey is beautiful.

Mike doesn’t see him until they’re walking onstage from opposite wings, and he almost stops in place, because Harvey looks more stunning than he ever has in his life. He wears a crisp white shirt without a single button on the collar, and a tie crossed by complex gray stripes, and a smart gray vest and jacket, and matching gray pants– tailored slimly, Mike notices. His leather shoes shine, landing every step with strength and confidence. 

Striding across the stage, Harvey unbuttons his jacket and smoothly takes a seat on the couch opposite Caesar. Mike moves to do the same, but the button gets stuck. He gives up after a little fiddling and shoots Harvey a smile. Harvey only has eyes for Caesar.

“Mike and Specter! Specter and Mike! The whole country’s been thrilled by watching you both through these Games. So, the most important question first– what do you think about the kiss, and will it happen again?”

Mike takes a breath to speak, but Harvey cuts him off. “There’s a simple lesson to take from that scene, Caesar– don’t do drugs, or else you might just end up grabbing the nearest warm and willing body. Given that I don’t intend to get high again, no. No more kisses.” He looks at the audience and chuckles, “Sorry to anyone who thought it was hot.”

“Mike, do you feel the same way?”

“Yeah,” Mike stammers. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course.”

“And would you care to tell us about the secret contract you two made? I assume you did make one, since neither of your public alliances were still applicable at the end of the Games.”

“It’s very simple, Caesar. Mike was looking to save his own skin, and I was looking for a way out from under Jessica’s thumb. We made a deal before the Games to further both goals.”

“Was there a lot of tension between you and Jessica before the Games?”

Harvey leans forward with a slightly vicious grin. “You and everyone here heard Jessica slander me a hundred times over last night, but she, ah, neglected to mention some qualities of her own. She’s deceptive, calculating, and fond of micromanaging her subordinates into submission. I wanted an escape, and, conveniently enough, I was able to take Mike with me.”

“Did you offer Trevor the same deal?”

“Nah, I didn’t think he was smart enough to make it to the end of the Games– turns out I was right about that– and I didn’t think he could keep his mouth shut either.”

“And what would have happened if Donna survived to the end?”

Harvey automatically scoffs, jerking his head towards Mike without looking at him. “This guy would be mincemeat.”

“And what are you planning to do with your newfound freedom from Jessica?”

“I’m planning to take a break for the first time in fifteen years,” he says with a snort. “After that, I’ll look to do something that would have been utterly impossible in Jessica’s backyard– start my own training school.”

“Why couldn’t you do that back in 1?”

“Jessica writes these irritating non-compete clauses into all her contracts. No one who leaves her can start up a training school in 1 for years.”

“So you’re planning to train District 12 Careers?” Caesar asks, clearly skeptical. “That sounds difficult, to say the least.”

“True, but I might be able to get residency in another district a few years down the road.” He flashes the camera a blinding grin and adds, “I’m nothing if not a shameless opportunist, Caesar.”

“Why wait until the end of the Games to switch your citizenship? Why not sign as soon as Donna died?”

“First off, I wanted access to 1’s sponsors. Secondly, it was a matter of giving the audience what they want, and what they want is drama. I delayed signing my renunciation of District 1 until the tensest moment possible, to make sure that none of you are ever going to forget that moment. I got to swap my citizenship and raised my profile on the national level at the same time.”

Caesar turns his attention to Mike, then. And Mike stumbles through the rest of the interview, while Harvey glibly fills in every pause he leaves, spinning his airtight tale of schemes and ambition. He is smooth, silver-tongued, untouchable in his three-piece suit, so blindingly brilliant Mike has to turn his eyes away.

* * *

President Hardman crowns them both the next day, placing golden circlets on their heads. The designs of the crowns change every year to reflect some unique feature of those particular Games, and this time they look like circlets of rosemary.

When he crowns Mike, the president simply smiles and says, “Well-played.”

He turns to Harvey and murmurs, “Pray you, remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Congratulations to everyone who made it through to the end of canon.


	17. Chapter 17

The Games are over.

Mike lives in luxury. There’s no need to hunt; he has more food than he could ever hope to eat. He ought to resume his study of the Games, they’ll want him as a mentor soon, but he puts that off for now. They give him a mansion in 12’s Victor’s Village, at last put into use. 

Too used to saving money, he leaves the lamps off and sits quiet by the window, watching the lights flicker in Harvey’s house across the way. Jenny sits in the dark beside him, silent and still. Every few minutes a tear drops to hang at the line of her chin, catching Mike’s attention in his periphery.

“You can’t blame yourself, Mike.” She places a hand on his shoulder, firm and anchoring. “He played us all.”

* * *

The Games are over, and there’s no need to hunt. Still, Mike goes out to the chink in the fence for old time’s sake and follows his memory to the tree where he and Trevor sat before the Reaping. He stands at the base, too tired to climb it, and then crinkles his nose.

He smells burning Eufrosyne.

He follows it warily, keeping his footsteps light and soft, but one branch snaps underfoot. In a blink he’s thrust against a different tree. Harvey’s left hand is splayed hot on his chest. His right hand’s hot around his throat.

They loosen as he looks at Mike. A fever breaks in Harvey’s eyes.

Mike huffs in disbelief once Harvey steps back, letting go. “You’re strung a little tight for someone who’s high.”

“I barely smoked. Can’t get too comfortable in the middle of nowhere.”

“Why’d you follow me out here?” he demands.

“I didn’t follow _you_. My dad told me, look for the chink in the electric fence. Just in case I ever ended up in this pile of dirt.” His lip curls in an ugly sneer as he gestures out at the whole district, and he straightens up, and he buttons the suit jacket he’s inexplicably wearing even here. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to go take care of genuine business.”

He pushes past Mike, briefly brushing his shoulder though there was room to step wholly around him. Mike nearly lets him keep walking, nearly lets him get away with it all.

“I call your bluff.”

That grabs Harvey, spins him on his heel. They both turn to face each other.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spits.

“You’re still lying. You were at the interview. You are now.”

“If you’re still upset about what I said at the Flickerman interview? It had to be said. I’m sorry.”

And that’s all the confirmation Mike needs, because Harvey Specter shouldn’t ever apologize. “There’s no cameras here, are there? This is the closest we can still get to safe.”

“I don’t know what-"

“The game’s not over, is it?”

Harvey freezes. He staggers back as the strangest expression passes over him, a shift in the eyes, a slackening in the lips.

“I see you,” Mike says, holding Harvey’s stare, words calm and clear as the whole puzzle at last comes into view. “You like 12. Our music, that’s why you had vinyls. Our names, that’s why you let me call you ‘Harvey.’”

“I can’t-” 

“You’re not a shameless opportunist, or not _just_ one. You cared about Donna. Loved her, even.”

“Only her.” He tosses his head, grasping desperately. “She’s the only one who’s ever mattered to me.”

“No,” Mike presses, drilling at last through the lies and misdirection. “No, you cared about the Career kids in 2, you panicked when Samantha broke the contract and it was for their sake. If that’s how you felt about Rand Kaldor, I can only imagine how much Pearson Academy matters to you.”

“Mike-”

“Then there’s Jessica Pearson herself. I saw that interview. You hurt her, when you switched teams. That means she cared about you in the first place, but maybe it was one-sided . . .”

“It wasn’t.” 

Though his poker face is still hard as rock, his voice cracks.

Mike pauses, holding tight to the chink. “Tell me about her?”

He now scoffs out of sorrow, not condescension. “You know all those names we called each other at our interviews?”

“I remember.”

“Those were the things we liked best about each other.” He blinks, looking away into the forest and forcing back tears. “The things I like best about her.”

“And yet,” Mike says, voice gentle even as his closing statement grows clear, “you knew you’d hurt her when you switched. And the Academy. And there must be a million people whispering in your ear, and maybe you’re already being blackmailed, and I don’t know what’s going on with the sponsors but it _stinks_ , and yet you’re here.” He waits until Harvey’s gaze drifts back to him. “With me.”

In the soft morning light filtering through the forest, Mike finally identifies that look in Harvey’s eyes.

“The game I’m playing?” Harvey finally says, swallowing hard. “The ending’s predestined. Nobody’s on my side. I’m going to go down alone and in flames, and all that’s left is to put on a show.”

“You don’t have to.”

“This isn’t just the Games,” he shouts, voice raw and crackling. “There are more players than you can ever count. There are more traps, more deaths and layers of fraud, I’m already breaking the rules just by talking to you. _There is no winning this_.”

“How do we know unless we try?”

“We?” he says, eyebrows jumping in disbelief. 

”I’m offering you an alliance.”

“You don’t understand the risks. To you, to Jenny-"

“So we’ll be perfectly safe, as long as I stand by and let you destroy yourself?” He waits for a reply and gets none. “An alliance, Harvey. We’ll fix it,” he pleads, “just tell me the truth. I’ll be on your side, if you just promise you’re on mine.”

Mike reaches out.

They shake hands. 

But this time Harvey doesn’t let go. “‘Til death do us part?”

There’s a teasing smile on his lips and tears shimmering in his eyes, and Mike races to comprehend the entire game. The Academies surely have a seat at the table. The sponsors- clients?- maneuver in the shadows. There are Gamemakers to manipulate, laws to shape and contracts to write. There will be backroom deals. There will be threats- already have been, to frighten Harvey Specter. And there’s President Hardman, who reigns on his throne to oversee it all.

But Mike knows rules are meant to be bent, and no throne lasts forever.

“Until,” he corrects as a spark catches in his brain, “we win every game there is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!! Writing this fic has been a wild road, and I'm grateful to everyone who supported me along the way.
> 
> I initially planned for this fic to be part of a much longer story arc. This fic mostly followed my original arc until it diverged in Chapter 17; there's a chance I might post the full original version some day, but it is a tiny chance. Mike would not bet on it.


End file.
